


Give Me Forever, Dickwad

by purified_mangoes



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Beverly Marsh, Bisexual Disaster Richie Tozier, Bisexual Richie Tozier, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Disaster Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Happy Ending, Humor, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Movie: IT Chapter Two (2019), Possible smut, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Reddie, Sexual orientation confusion, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Well see, adult reddie, but only sometimes, i needed to write this to soothe myself, i swear im trying to write long chapters, lots of banter, might get explicit, slow buildup, this is the first time ive written fanfic in years, this will be a long fic, very strong language, what the fuck is a WoRd COuNt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:44:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20718992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purified_mangoes/pseuds/purified_mangoes
Summary: A world in which Eddie doesn't die, and heals with Richie by his side.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this fic to get some feelings off my chest, plus I miss writing and am about to go off to college to major in writing, so why not get some practice in? I love Bill Hader with all my heart. Enjoy :)

Eddie’s inhaler was gone, his pills absent, his safety nets in tatters, just when he needed them most. His mind processed everything so much slower than it usually did, his nervous thoughts paused as he stared at Richie. 

“Richie,” his voice so soft and small even to his own ears. The shocked expression on Richie’s face doesn’t shift, the blood on his cracked glasses trickles down and seeps into the thick black frames. 

“Eddie -” The utterance of his name barely registers, he only understands it from the way Richie’s mouth curves and forms the syllables. Eddie liked the movements that mouth made. 

Eddie’s own lips choke out another “Rich” with a spurt of red before Eddie is suddenly flying. His constant nervousness came back, and the sensation of the air rushing so quickly around him made him think up statistics about airplanes. He always hated them, though statistically speaking, they were decently safe. He heard cries around him, he didn’t know from whom. The Losers? It must be. All he could feel was the air, and a pain, though that was far away. 

Just like that, he fell and time stopped its slow crawl, accelerating all too quickly, like someone had punched the gas pedal with all their might and now he was tumbling limply. His shoulder hit a jagged edge somewhere in the dark, and there was the pain growing closer in the center of his chest. His body rolled itself as it bounced, and when it connected with another edge, he felt bruised and the pain right under his sternum was sharp, sharp, sharp. He kept falling down, felt himself going lower into the pitch black Earth, each hit waking him up to the agony he was in. Eventually he stopped, sputtering and choking. He felt his throat closing and filling simultaneously, he hand spasmodically feeling for an inhaler he had destroyed so recently. 

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t hear, and he wasn’t sure if he couldn’t see or if that was only the darkness. His body turned, someone was pulling up and he saw the glint of glasses tugging him back towards the cavern from which he had fallen. “Eddie, Eds, come on!” Someone was calling, their voice like it was underwater. 

“Don’t call me Eds,” he responded the best he could, thick crimson dribbling out and clearing his throat a little. 

He felt a strained laugh against his side as he was gently laid against a wall, cloth being pressed against his chest as he gasped. “Rich-” His eyes began to adjust as the features of his closest friend filled his sight. Eddie noticed Richie’s lack of a jacket, realizing that it was the item bunched against his torso and gripped in his hand. 

Richie talked rapidly to Eddie, but was unheard. Eddie interrupted, “Richie, I have to tell you something.”

Richie’s eyebrows knit together intently, him clearly focusing so much would’ve made Eddie laugh in any other context. “What Eds?” 

“I fucked your mom.” 

Eddie thought Richie laughed, but he wasn’t sure, his vision started fading and the hand on the jacket relaxed. He felt Richie’s warmth closeby, a small press on his forehead, and then he was cold.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers struggle to get Eddie out of the cavern alive.

Blissful darkness was interrupted by intense pain, and Eddie screamed. His arm was thrown around something solid, wrenching the pain in his chest in a position it shouldn’t have been. He felt his legs dragged and tried hard to make them stop, he sucked in air quickly, begging his body to stay still.

“Please.”

Richie’s wild, frantic eyes swam into view, and Eddie felt him pulling his prone body along. “We’re almost out Eds, we’re almost there. We’ll get you help,”

“Rich, please stop.” His head and body felt completely disconnected from each other, everything was being ran through a blender and poured back in its place. He felt his blood running everywhere at once, hot and cold, his organs felt loose and dangerously collected under his skin. “Please leave me, Rich. I can’t.” He craved the dark again, it felt soothing, like the cold relief his inhaler brought him. Just the thought of that made his throat ache for the medicine.

“Don’t say that, Eds. You’re coming back with me, asshole.”

He felt his body move, his legs swept up and they were moving faster, the world shaking around them.

Richie struggled to hold Eddie up, it made it harder that he had gone limp again. Mike moved closer to help Richie, but the cavern was collapsing and Richie didn’t stop long enough to accept the assistance. He panted and gripped Eds closer; the adrenaline helped, but Richie still dug his fingers into Eddie’s sides to reassure himself that he wouldn’t lose his grip. His fingers were coated in slippery, warm blood, and he panicked at the idea of dropping Eddie. _Fuck fuck fuck, don’t drop him you fucking dickwad. _

They reached the hole they had to climb down to access Pennywise’s lair, and Richie couldn’t climb the jagged rocks with Eddie in his arms. A small whimper left his throat, his heart climbing up his chest.

Bill was on the wall above him, his arms stretching out to Richie. “Rich, lift h-him up to us, we can d-do this together.”

Mike and Bev circling around Richie, helping him to push Eddie’s body towards Bill. Mike climbed up a few feet, holding Eddie under his shoulder while Bill got his arm hooked under the other. Bev held the bottom of Eddie’s form with Ben, while Richie let go for the first time. Everything in him screamed at him to keep holding on, his brain hurled all the worst insults it could imagine. Taking deeper breaths than he had for the last half hour, he began to climb towards the light. He reached up near Bill and took some of Eddie’s weight while the others moved upwards. Hands reached over hands, making progress over the rocks. Muscles straining, the Losers rose.

When they reached the edge of the hole, Bill threw open the marked door they had climbed down. Pushing Eddie over the wooden entrance, they all scrambled to plant their feet firmly on the platform. Richie scooped Eddie up as best he could, while Ben ran around in front of him, to elevate Eddie above the graywater. It slowed them down slightly, running through the murky water like they were, but Richie thanked Ben in his head. He wanted nothing more than to get Eddie out as fast as he could, but knew that if Eddie’s wound was infected, it’d make it that much harder to keep him alive.

“Thank fuck you made working out your hobby, Hanscom.” Richie breathed out.

Ben let out a breathy laugh, pushing himself to hold Eddie up even further. Up ahead, Bill and Bev were flashing their lights towards the entrance, moving occasional debris out of Richie’s and Ben’s path. The world seemed to be disintegrating around them, like Derry was crumbling with the absence of It. The town’s entire system was forever altered by the Losers’ victory, and was punishing them for that. As quickly as possible, they ran to the basement of the Neibolt house, Ben let go to help Mike up the entrance. Richie thought Mike’s wrist was at a strange angle, he cursed to himself, overwhelmed with it all.

His legs and lungs burned, his heart aching. He was moving too slowly, Eddie needed more help than he could provide. All at once, the world was bright again, and Richie inhaled sharply. Grass. Fresh. Clean air. Behind him, an unearthly sound occurred, a crash pushed him forward and he stumbled to catch himself and Eddie. The other Losers’ hands were on him, steadying him as they turned and faced the wreckage. Before their eyes, the cracked wooden siding fell over itself as if it were being sucked down towards Its lair. Dust filled the air, puffing up towards the sun and blowing around them.

Standing still for the first time, Richie felt how weak Eddie’s breathing was and immediately turned to the others. In a blur, Richie was in the back of a speeding car, his arms holding Eddie up in the backseat. His fingers traced over Eddie’s hand, his mouth and nose buried in Eddie’s dirty, messy hair. _If he were awake, he would be so pissed off, he would be calling us all dickweeds for exposing ourselves to all that dirt and disease._ He chuckled. Richie breathed in, smelling Eddie’s gross hair, as his cheeks became wet. His own body was racked with shaking breaths and muffled cries, he tried to stop it so he wouldn’t disturb Eddie, wanting desperately to keep still. He trembled, feeling Eddie’s scalp getting wet. His lip quivered, and he held onto Eddie tighter, pressing an arm against the jacket trying to stem to blood loss. A low moaning noise escaped from deep in his throat, and he practically wailed against Eddie. _Come on Trashmouth, stop being a pussy. _

A hand rested on his shoulder, and turning his head, his watery eyes met Mike’s. Mike leaned into Richie’s shoulder, as did Ben, who was smashed between Richie’s other side and the car door. In the passenger seat, Bill turned and rested his hand on Richie’s knee. Bev glanced up in the rearview mirror, her soft green eyes meeting Richie’s. His mind wandered then to Stan, how calm his presence always was, how well he understood. For the first time, Richie felt like he could truly breathe and his sobs didn’t feel as pathetic anymore.

Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier was silent for once.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Made it to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a lot shorter than I intended it to be. Whoops

The surgeries lasted for seven hours, eleven minutes, and fifty seven seconds by Richie’s count. A doctor told the Losers that they should be optimistic about Eddie’s recovery, though she explained how intense Eds’ rehabilitation would be. His hospital stay would last at least a week, and he wouldn’t be able to return to work for minimally another six. Richie nearly snorted when the doctor discussed Eddie working, their jobs were the very last thing on any of their minds. But, he resisted and remained straight faced while the group was informed of Eddie’s state. 

“For now, however,” the doctor continued. “Only one of you is allowed to remain in his room. He’s heavily sedated, he likely won’t wake up until well into the morning. We’ll check his vitals, and if he’s stable enough, he’ll be cleared for more visitors and possibly transferred to a more accommodating room.” The doctor’s tone was professional, she nodded sympathetically with her own words, apologizing to the Losers about the situation. 

The mood shifted as the Losers looked at each other, Richie felt his face lose its color. He wasn’t sure if he could bear being away from Eddie, he wouldn’t rest being unaware of whether Eds was okay or not. 

The group’s eyes flitted around each other, a silent agreement made. Bill spoke on their behalf, “Richie will s-s-stay.” 

“Okay, well, when you’re ready to head back to see Mr. Kaspbrak, you’ll have to sign into the desk right over there and someone will point you in the right direction.” She smiled politely, and returned all of the Losers’ firm handshakes and thanks before taking her leave. 

“Well that was fucking intense,” Richie took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, grimacing. Bev’s hand found its way to his arm and she rubbed a small circle reassuringly. 

“Eddie will be okay, he’s in really good hands.” Mike assured Richie, “We’ll all be at the townhouse too if you need us at anytime.” 

Richie nodded before a realization struck him. He grabbed quickly at his jacket pocket, he had snatched it before Eddie had been taken away. His fingers shockingly felt his phone. Pulling it out, the screen was cracked, jagged spiderwebs cut along the glass. But when he pressed the power, it lit up. “Those underpaid workers know their shit, man.” He laughed incredulously. “This phone is a fucking tank.” 

The other Losers laughed gently, it was evident their sheer exhaustion was seeping through. Richie cleared his throat, “You guys should really, um, get some rest. You look like shit. Eds and I will be fine here, I’ll call if anything changes or if you can visit.” 

Bev smiled, “Beep beep, Richie.” She leaned in for a hug. “Good luck, Trashmouth.” 

They all said their goodbyes, Richie watched as they headed towards the waiting room door and padded down to the elevator. Sighing, he turned towards the front desk and pushed his heart back down into his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie drinks bad coffee, paces, and muses over palmistry.

The nurse’s station had terribly shitty coffee, it was burnt, bitter, and almost stale. Sprucing up the coffee with cheap creamer did nothing, it transmuted the flavor to a black licorice taste. Richie swallowed cup full after cup full of the junk until he was practically shaking. His pacing habit returned in full force and he fluttered his fingers together in the air, waving his hands randomly as he thought. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. 

“What the fuck do I do with my hands, Eds?” He queried aloud, “This is a real problem. Every time I do a show or I’m standing still, I look like I’m in front of a damn firing squad, I'm stiff as my dick around your mom. Like what the hell is wrong with me? People must see me and think, ‘Look at this dude, bitch is auditioning to be a storefront mannequin.’” He snorted at himself, choking down another drink of coffee.

Tilting his head towards Eddie, he acknowledged, "But sometimes I get worked up like this and it's the opposite, I'm prancing around the room like a fuckwit. Which is worse?" 

Eddie would have a nervous breakdown if he were to see how Richie was neglecting himself, The total lack of care for health in general would get Eddie all wound up, spitting out facts about the symptoms and illnesses sleep deprivation and general mania could cause. 

“You know, Eds, I think you were onto something about me writing my own material, I’m a genius really.”

Sitting down in the simple, semi padded chair he had pulled next to Eddie, Richie pulled off his glasses. He reached for a tissue, scrubbing off as much of Eddie’s dried blood as he could. “I think next special, I’m going to pitch my own stuff. I think talking about fucking my best friend’s mom could snag me some fans. Everyone wants to hear about how I somehow managed to get my massive dick got lost in her rolls,” he gestured a wide stomach around him with his arms. He grinned at Eddie’s unconscious form. 

Slowly, that smile faded. He pushed his glasses back on his face, and rested his arms down on the edge of the bed, letting his chin sit on his forearms. He stared for a couple quiet minutes, watching Eddie’s chest rise and fall. 

They had defeated It, It wouldn’t terrorize the people, mainly children, of Derry any longer. They were unknown heroes, they had come back to face themselves, their past, everything. Despite this, Richie still felt a weight in his chest, he didn't feel like a hero. Potential causes for his unease filtered through his head. To start, he had wanted to leave, to let the rest of the Losers be suicidal masochists without him, to let them run to their deaths as long as he wouldn’t be involved. Well. Most of the Losers. That was another thing, he had let Eddie down, he nearly died, he could still die. Richie’s throat started to tighten at the thought of a nasty infection worming its way into Eddie’s system during his recovery. He couldn’t bear it if Eddie died to some random bullshit complication after all they had been through. He would hate himself if he hadn’t held Eddie up high enough above the graywater, had let Eds scrap against a slimy diseased wall on the way out, hadn’t covered the wound enough to escape the grime. 

Richie shifted up to rest on his elbows, his hands pushing through his hair. He dug his fingers against his closed eyelids, rubbing his exhaustion away as hard as he could. “Eds, I wish I were more like you.” Uncertain of where he was going with this, Richie nervously pushed up his glasses. It wasn’t like Eddie could hear him anyways. 

“I meant what I said down there, really. You’re braver than you think. You’re much braver than I’ve ever been, will ever be. I can’t even write and suggest my own material. Famous stand-up fraud, that’s old Richie Tozier.” 

His heart beat a little faster as his next words slipped, “Closeted fag Tozier, fairy extraordinaire. His little sparkly ass wings dragging him around and getting him nowhere, can’t date anyone because he’s in love with a straight married man.” 

A nurse knocked on the door, startling Richie, who stood up quickly and grabbed his cup. The nurse smiled at him, and he nodded back. He coughed awkwardly, “I’m going to grab some more coffee while, uh, he’s checked on.” 

The woman leaned over, picking up a board with Eddie’s chart on it. She read the last shift's check up notes and began to take her own measurements and recordings. “Don’t bother,” she smiled. “It’s decaf anyways, and it tastes terrible.” 

Richie stared back and a phrase echoed perfectly in his ears, _ They’re gazebos! They’re bullshit! _He groaned outwardly, “Well, thank you for the heads up. I think the placebo effect is helping me stay awake anyway.” He turned to the door, while the nurse piped up again. 

“As a health professional, I think I’m contractually obligated to tell you to get some rest, Mr. Tozier. I’ll happily bring you a blanket.” 

Richie smiled despite himself, the way his eyelids were beginning to drag down made him inclined to agree. “You’re probably right, that’d be nice.” 

The nurse wrote some more things down on the clipboard, before looking back up at Richie. “Of course, I’ll be right back.” 

Walking slowly towards Eddie, Richie tried to calculate how long he had been awake. The previous day’s events were starting to blur together, and when encountering It, none of them could be sure about time. Facing an eldritch horror eroded and transformed how time worked, it wouldn’t surprise Richie if Pennywise had been manipulating alternate universes or some shit. Mike knew more about that than any of them, but whatever, the point was, Richie was exhausted. 

He sat back down in his chair, and soon the nurse came bearing the gift of a plain gray blanket. Thanking her, he wrapped it around himself, settling his head back down on his forearms. Eddie’s arm had been moved when the nurse checked his vitals, his hand was close to Richie now, his fingers curled slightly. Richie ached to touch them, and it thrilled him to do so when he finally worked up the courage. 

Fingers tracing over Eddie’s palm, Richie thought about what all of those lines there meant. He had briefly dated a girl in college who was into all that astrology, pagan, moon shit. If she had one day confronted him about his sign meaning that he was really a unicorn she needed to sacrifice, he wouldn’t have been surprised. Nothing much came from that relationship except confirmation of his flaming homosexuality, and a massive amount of confusion about whatever the hell tarot was. 

But still, it was nice to imagine what was spelled out in Eddie’s hand. Richie traced over each line carefully, imaging to himself that each one meant something different. _ This one meant Eddie would admit he married his shitty mother, that one meant Eddie is a fucking liar and doesn’t have asthma. _ He slowly etched over the longest, deepest line. Something about the line being so defined made him think it meant the answer it provided was definite, it was guaranteed. _ This one means that Eddie will stay with Richie, they’ll be happy finally, they’ll never forget. _

Richie relaxed, playing this little fantasy game of his. Taking turns between Eddie’s palm and watching his chest move, Richie drifted off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how consistent my updating will be, I have the next several chapters drafted out, but I haven't decided an actual schedule. I just really want to share this story as fast as I can because I'm enjoying it so much.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has a flair for dramatic exits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a rough ass day at school, so I'm avoiding my AP Gov and AP Lit homework and college essays and more to indulge myself in writing more of this. It just makes me happy, I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it as much as I do :)

The soft blankets rustle gently in the breeze blowing through the window, a slight chill rushes over Richie’s shoulder and neck, waking him. His mind denies it at first, he’s much too tired to have slept for so little time as he had, he’s sure of it. It just isn’t right to wake up yet, and so he doesn’t. He drifts back off with the help of the warmth emanating next to him from a body so achingly close to his own. 

The breeze returns, minutes or hours later, it’s hard to tell really. This time he feels it across his bare back, the blanket he’s sharing must’ve pulled down as he slept. Richie’s husband prefers that he sleeps without a shirt, and honestly, he wasn’t complaining. The only grievance he had was that sometimes said husband was a rampant blanket thief, which is why Richie is now chilly, he’s sure of it. 

He had such sweet dreams, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t remember them. His hand wanders from its place tucked underneath himself, and finds another: warm, soft, and marked with deep, promising lines. 

He’s married to Eddie, he’s sure of it. He can nearly feel the simple ring on his finger, but he can’t check, that hand is still tucked under his own chest. He smiles to himself as he squeezes the hand he’s holding, but there’s no squeeze back. Strange. He does it again. Nothing. 

There’s that breeze again, blowing more insistently, like the window has gotten angry and is inviting the wind inside their room. _ Come in, come in, _ the window says, _ Wake this fucker up for me so I can be shut and go on about my day. _ It continues for longer than it should, and Richie starts to wake up, his senses filled with fear. The wind feels hot now, warm at least. It’s almost wet, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, even if he’s wrong and it’s just the wind. But he does and nearly shrieks at the sight. 

Eddie is next to him, shirtless as well, his brown eyes gazing blankly forward, the blanket pulled down as much on him as it had been on Richie. It reveals the horrible gaping hole, the claw still lodged in it. Hyperventilating, Richie feels frozen, he can’t talk, his trashmouth is all twisted up in horror at the sight of his husband like that. As he stares in terror, the claw slips back out, pulling Eddie’s flesh and innards with it. Blood weeps in streams out of the torn edges of skin, soaking their mattress and growing a bright red spot that moves towards Richie. 

The claw is gone, having slinked down to the floor and moved around their bed. The breath returns, hot, heavy, and wet against the goosebumps on Richie’s skin. Without thinking, he instinctively turns his head this time, greeted with those rows of grinning teeth. It hovers over with a razor filled maw of a mouth, Its eyes sparkling with the gluttony It is feeling for Richie’s fear. “A fairy! A fairy! Little fairy Richie loses his wings!” Its jaws snap into Richie’s shoulders blades, messily tearing away at his back and biting up his neck. Everything feels raw and wet on his back, numb for the most part, and he swears he can feel that warm air hitting his exposed bones now. Richie’s body spasms on its own and he’s suspended somewhere in his head while Pennywise chews and swallows. 

_ FUCK, _Richie’s eyes flew open and he gasped, gripping the hand he had fallen asleep holding. Richie remained still, face pressed against the rough blanket while his jagged breaths slowed. The leg under that blanket was resting comfortably against his forehead and provided a anchor. He was sweating, felt his dirty shirt sticking to his back, and he finally jumped, to an embarrassing height when Eddie yelped. 

Richie’s eyes take a moment to adjust, though even without his glasses he can recognize Eddie’s deep brown eyes staring at him, and he jerked back in his chair, flinging Eds’ hand away on accident. “Shit man, I’m so sorry. Holy fuck - you’re awake! We have to call the Losers! They have to know!” He stood up too quickly, clumsily knocking his chair over. 

Eddie panicked mildly and sat up, waving his hands in a time-out signal, “Wait, wait, wait, Richie. Stop!” 

Amazingly, Richie does, he obeys Eddie and Eddie doesn’t quite know what to do with this power. It’s new, Trashmouth never listens. Eddie started slowly, “The nurses checked up on me about forty minutes ago, I’m not fit to be transferred to a different, larger room yet, it’s just you for now.” 

Richie swallowed and nodded, picking up the chair while fumbling around blindly for his glasses. Eddie handed them to him, “They were half way off your face when I woke up, I tucked them away to keep them safe so didn’t break them like an idiot.” 

“Thanks, babe, you’re husband material,” Richie joked, pushing down the thick feeling in his throat when his brain flashed him an image of husband Eddie in his dream

Eddie rolled his eyes and huffed, “Hey, you fucking wish, dickwad.” 

The smile on Richie’s face was way too wide to not hurt, “I’m so glad you pulled through, asshole. You’re awake way earlier than the doctors expected.” 

“I think you just slept way later than you expected.”

“Or maybe I stayed up later than you think waiting for your Sleeping Beauty headass to wake up for me. I tried that true loves kiss thing and everything, totally bullshit,” Richie mimed kissing an unconscious Eddie dipped in his arms, and Eddie couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I hope you at least brushed your fucking teeth before you tried that shit.” 

“I actually dragged myself back to Neibolt and swished around some of that greywater like Listerine just for you.” 

Eddie literally gagged several times while Richie rocked back in his chair, clapping. “You’re a prick,” Eddie choked out before continuing his retching. Once he started his choking, he couldn’t stop, Richie slapped his back with firm, even hits. 

Pulling out his phone, Richie just laughed, “Correction: I’m the best prick there is, ask your mom’s vagina.” He scrolled through his contacts to the groupchat the Losers had set up, and pressed the video chat option. 

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Eddie complained as Richie hopped up on the bed next to him, ruffling up all the sheets and pushing Eddie to the side gently. Richie held up the phone from a high angle and grinned ridiculously when the Losers picked up quickly. 

They more or less all yelled into the phone when they saw Eddie’s face. Mike, Bev, and Bill all left the chat and gathered around Ben’s screen instead, it’s clear from the background they were all in the townhouse, squeezed onto the small loveseat Eddie and Richie had shared that first night after their encounter with the fortune cookies. 

This digital reunion is sweet, the Losers excited to see Eddie awake, and while none of them mention it, alive. It’s unspoken how relieved they are about his successful brush with death. Instead, the sweetest type of small talk ensues, reminding Richie of their reunion at the Chinese restaurant before the hellish nightmares appeared. Conversation topics spun and shifted rapidly, Eddie constantly being asked all about his condition and health. For once, Richie had to step into the role of the Adult, Eddie was unconscious during many of the check ups. Richie hadn’t been entirely confident about what to ask the nurses flitting in and out of the room, but he knew well enough what was important; Eddie was going to make it through his recovery fine, there were a variety of ways to combat his pain and to fix what seemed irreversibly broken. 

During his signing in at the front desk, Richie had accidentally checked that box for next of kin, letting the black ink place an X that labelled him as Eddie’s spouse. He had sworn at his idiocy, assuring himself that it was only his tired eyes peering through cracked glasses that had made him mark that space. Regardless, that box gave him a VIP pass into the information doctor’s had collected on Eddie, they consulted _ him _ about his postoperative treatments, a nurse taught _ him _ how to replace Eddie’s bandages, the schedule for rest was gravely communicated to _ him. _ Rich tried as best he could to relay the information he had attempted earnestly to soak up, rubbing the back of his neck when he couldn’t speak to the overwhelming amount of specific details. 

The Losers apologized for their inability to visit, but expressed content that Eddie was up with Richie there for support. There couldn’t have been a better person to help. 

“Yeah, he’s a giant help when he’s not inducing a heart attack,” Eddie quipped.

“Darling, I can’t help it I’m so damn attractive,” Richie retorted while the Losers laughed. 

There was a comfortable silence that slowly lost its charm, Bill being the first to disrupt it and break the facade of normality. “We’re really happy you’re here E-Eddie. We were all wor-r-ried you wouldn’t make it out with us.” 

“Jeez Bill, boner killer. Can we, like, not talk about violent death for two minutes? It doesn’t get me or Eds off” Richie deadpanned, turning to see Eddie’s reaction. Eddie was simply quiet, looking down. 

“Beep beep Richie,” Mike said. 

Eddie seemed on the verge of tears when he forced himself to make eye contact with the Losers, save Richie. He's not strong enough to do that yet, he really would begin to panic if he did. “What even happened down there?” 

Richie’s blood turned cold at the thought of explaining everything to Eddie. Of course, they’d have to sooner or later, Eddie was most definitely going to ask about the fucking hole in his chest. But couldn’t they wait? Why did it have to be so serious all the fucking time, couldn’t they just enjoy their victory, celebrate their reunion? The dust hadn’t even settled around the wreck of the Neibolt house, and here they were, needlessly traumatizing themselves again.

“We fucking killed It, showed that motherfucker what it’s like to screw with us. We made that clown our bitch, that’s what happened down there. In fact, funny story-” Richie started. 

“Beep beep Richie” Bill says it this time. 

“No!” Richie yelled, his voice slightly squeaky, making Eddie next to him jump. “Don’t you assholes beep beep me, it’s too damn early in the morning for this bullshit. Eddie was nearly killed, he’s hooked up to more wires and more painkillers than someone giving birth to quintuplets. I don’t even know how the fuck many babies are in a quintuplet set, but it’s probably a lot!” 

He had started ranting, his hand flying to his hair instinctively and he realized he still hadn’t showered when he couldn’t pull his fingers all the way through the strands. Eddie’s blood had dried there, making Richie’s wild dark curls stick together in an impossible number of directions. “You motherfuckers don’t even understand, I still have his blood on me. We haven’t even let everything settle. Can’t we just get one motherfucking break in this shitty ass town?” Richie shoved the phone into Eddie’s hands.

He understood as he stood up that he was being dramatic as fuck, but he was committed more than anything else. He learned on his stages to devote himself to his performance, finish the bit, feel the crowd, move on if necessary. This was his moving on for a minute, he told himself as he grabbed his bloody jacket and shrugged it on in the hallway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love their angry dialogue, get ready for more in the soon to be out chapters


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry this chapter took so long to get out, I meant to do it yesterday but had an assignment due at midnight, then I remodeled a kitchen for most of today. But here's the chapter! I apologize, there's very little action in it, it's very heavy on dialogue because I struggle to find a balance. Enjoy :)

Richie had no idea exactly where he was heading, but he let his feet lead the way. He tried to maintain a casual stroll downtown near that awful statue, quickened his pace near the boarded up arcade, and eventually found his path border by legions of trees. Turning to his right, he realized he had ventured to the Kissing Bridge. His heart beat a little faster when he approached the spot. 

“R + E” 

His hands shook, so he shoved them in his jacket pockets. But all he felt there was his wallet, soaked pretty thoroughly with Eddie’s blood, and a pocket knife. His fingers toyed with mechanism on the side of the knife, clicking and unclicking the knife open, as he stood there. Eventually he stopped, pulled it out, and knelt down. He dug the tip of the blade into the wood and pulled down, the edge easily dragging out the carved letter deeper. The knife retraced the first line as smoothly as it would have cut through butter. The curve on his “R” was a little harder, he was so tense he nearly slipped and cut himself. The “E” was no trouble at all, it never was.

Richie knew he had been a dick, but he was scared. He was dangerously close to losing Eddie, still even closer than he was comfortable with. He couldn’t handle reliving all those details again, not so soon. If his nightmare had been any indication, it was a scenario with which was going to become familiar and replay over. Richie had known an outburst would give him an out, and so he took it.  _ Thank you all for coming, be safe driving home, I’ll now exit stage right.  _

Finished with the mark, RIchie detracted the blade, shoved it back in his pocket, and ran his hand over the carving. Smiling a little, he pressed his forehead against it, wishing it was Eddie instead. He had to go back. 

When he made it back to the hospital room, Eddie was very much invested in his strategic plan of silent treatment. Even after Richie offered him a burger he’d picked up from some fast food chain on his way over, Eddie persisted in shutting up. No amount of bribing, embarrassing statements, or jokes would loosen him up. 

Richie sighed, exasperated. “Eddie, fuck me man, you have to talk to me. We’re sort of sharing a space right now, you can’t just ignore me forever.” 

Eddie simply looked at the other wall, turning away from Richie. 

“Eds, please talk to me,” Richie pleaded. After several long, agonizing moments of silence, he relented, “We can about what happened if you want. I’m sure they filled you in.” 

“Don’t call me Eds.” 

It was a start. “What did they tell you?” 

“Enough, the major details.” Eddie’s voice was uncharacteristically cool, he wasn’t quipping at Richie like usual and it put Rich on edge. 

“Is there any more you’d like to know?” Richie’s voice was soft, willing.

There was a beat, RIchie was about to speak again. 

“Why the fuck did you leave me, asshole? You fucking left me!” Eddie exploded, his soft brown eyes now fiery and full of energy. 

Richie didn’t know how to respond. “Leave you? What the fuck are you talking about? I didn’t leave you, I dragged your heavy ass up from like forty miles underground. I climbed up like two separate wells with you, I carried you like you were fucking Lois Lane out of the house as it crashed around us!” 

“I’m not talking about that, dickhead! You left like two hours ago, you left me alone to confront all of that!” He was breathing hard, Richie worried he might suffer an asthma attack. “Did you ever consider maybe I needed you? Maybe I needed your comfort in hearing how I almost died on you? Or did you not stick around because it hurt your ego to know other fucking people helped get me out of there too?” 

That pissed Richie off. “Ego?” He spat out accusingly. “You think I left because of some fucking pride complex? News flash fuckface, I left because I didn’t want to relive my worst nightmare again, so there. I can talk to you about this, I refuse to make it a group therapy session.” 

“That’s pretty damn selfish of you, Richie. I needed you.” Eddie jerked a finger towards his own chest and accidentally hit his bandage. He cried out, but hopped back up immediately into his puffed up position on the bed. 

Richie hesitated,  _ He needed you.  _ “What you need is to be more fucking careful, let me call a nurse for more painkillers.” 

“No.” 

“Yes!” 

“No! My body, my choice,” Eddie huffed, his chest was heaving by this point, his breaths becoming more ragged. 

“Eddie, you’re being ridiculous. But fine. You don’t have to take more painkillers, but you do need to relax. You’re working yourself into a fucking fit. I’ll sit down right here on my throne,” Richie held his hands up as if he were being arrested, and walked over to the chair. “And you can ask me whatever the fuck you want? Anything. Ask me my dick size, my Social Security, the last time I vacuumed my apartment.” 

Eddie, despite his anger, shuddered. “I don’t even want to know the answer to that last question.” 

“Two months.” 

“Christ, Richie. That’s horrific.” Richie lips twitched up into an amused smile, while Eddie calmed down and hesitated, thinking of what he wanted to know. “Why couldn’t you talk about the, you know, cavern incident with the others?”

A beat. Richie’s raised hands lowered into his lap, he gripped his thighs right above his knees. Licking his lips, he replied slowly, and Eddie could tell he’d struck a nerve, “I don’t know, Eds.” A lie, a clear, fat, serious lie. His throat felt thick, if he had replayed what happened in the sewers in front of everyone, it would’ve been too much. He would’ve crumbled right then and there, having so many eyes on him. It’d be a performance for sure, but one of his comedic veneer crashing down around him. He couldn’t admit yet to all of them what he was, who he was. If he had to describe what happened to Eddie, they’d all know immediately. 

“You do know, Rich.” Eddie said. 

“I guess talking to just you is different, especially about something serious,” Richie paused and licked his lips.  _ Because I’m totally sort of now realizing how in love I’ve been with you all my life, Eddie.  _ “You’re just such an idiot, I don’t need to take anything seriously around you.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, “The king of the rudest compliments.” 

He could breathe easy now, “Yeah, but I’m your king of rudest compliments.” 

Eddie pursued his lips with a soft hum. “Do you think you should apologize to the others? They all meant well, I think they plan on visiting tomorrow to give you an opportunity to go shower and rest up.” 

“How do I say sorry about being a dramatic asshole to them?” 

“I think they understand, you’re a loud, dramatic fucker most of the time even if you’re not always an asshole.” Eddie paused, tilting his head. “They also know how stressed you’ve been, how little you’ve been sleeping.” 

Richie’s palms found their way to his face and he rubbed hard under his eyes, kneading the dark circles residing there. “Yeah. That’s fair, I’ll apologize tomorrow when they visit. Are you being transferred to a different room, then?” 

“I think so.” Eddie looked at Richie for a long time, studying his face after RIchie’s hands had drifted back to his lap. “Rich, what happened down there?” 

“I thought the others already told you?” 

“Yeah, but I want to know from you, I wanna hear your side too. There’s so much of it that’s foggy, and Bev said that you were the one around me the most.”

Richie’s stomach dropped, he looked desperately at Eddie,  _ Don’t make me relive all this, it’s bad enough at night in my sleep. I can’t tell you the full truth, not yet.  _

Eddie’s gaze had fallen, he couldn’t see the desperation in Richie’s eyes anyways, he was busying himself with a loose thread on his sheets.  _ Well, that’s fitting,  _ Richie thought,  _ he knows just what thread to target and pull until I’m all unraveled.  _

Richie sighed, “Okay. Well, you were above me after I got snapped out of the Deadlights somehow, and I was struggling not to get a hard on -” 

“Richie!” Eddie yelped.. 

That shit eating grin plastered itself automatically on Richie’s mouth, “Okay, just kidding, but still. So then, you uh kinda got impaled by a claw.” Richie slowed, swallowing hard.  _ I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to cry.  _ “And I-It flung you around the room for a few seconds, I think, before it tossed you somewhere. I didn’t know w-where you went at first, your body was over me but then it was just gone, you were gone.” 

Eddie took Richie’s hand, and RIchie froze, slack jawed almost like he was back in the Deadlights. He squeezed reassuringly, and Richie felt his heart stop, a small pain breaking through when his brain connected the dots, reminding hi Eddie was just being a good friend, nothing more. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I found you at the bottom of a tunnel and we realized how to defeat It, his big ass wasn’t able to reach us through the crack and we figured we just had to make him smaller.” 

“Just like I did with the leper before when we were kids,” Eddie offered. 

Richie nodded, “Exactly. Who would’ve known Eduardo would be onto something with that? Well, we moved you up back to the main part of the lair, I left my jacket with you to stop, you know. The bleeding.”  _ And I sort of kissed you, but only on your forehead because I’m a fucking coward.  _

Eddie gave a small smile at that, “I remember holding the jacket, it made me feel better. Thank you, Richie.” 

Richie nodded again, “Of course, man. I just didn’t want you dying on me. You know, that’s sort of a tacky thing to do. You also told me you fucked my mom, and the fact that those could’ve been your last words is a little incredible, you dipshit.” 

Eddie shrugged, grinning, “I would’ve said more but I sort of passed out. And besides, what a fucking legend I would be if those were my last words.” 

“You’re an asshole, Eddie Spaghetti.” 

“You’re an asshole too, Trashmouth. Keep telling the story.” 

“You act like this is a damn bedtime story, weirdo.” Richie scoffed. “We killed the fucking clown, I’m sure the others told you. We just insulted his stupid ass until he was small, like melting into that spikey shit. It was weird, but then again, I guess all of this is weird.” He shrugged, “It makes me sad, you know? All we had to do was insult It, if we had known beforehand…” 

“But we didn’t know, we couldn’t have known.” 

“I just can’t stop thinking about Stan and - and you. He didn’t have to die, he could still be here enjoying his damn birds and Jewishness and showercaps and shit. And you wouldn’t have a damn hole in you like a fucking fleshy donut, and you wouldn’t have like medical bills and you’d be back home with your wife -” Richie’s voice cracked on the last word, and he broke off, terrified of his mistake. 

“Hey, it’s okay, really. I’m okay. I’ll figure out the bills, I have pretty decent insurance from my work at an insurance company, which figures. I also have a savings account like a real adult, so there’s that” He laughed, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over Richie’s knuckles. “And with Stan, we did the most we could. He knew that.” 

Richie stood up and started pacing, his heart beating too hard and fast in his chest. If Eddie kept touching his hand, he felt like he would explode. He wandered from Eddie’s bed to the wall opposite and back. “Still. Stan deserved better. Anyways, getting on with this shitty story, we dragged you out after crushing Pennywise’s heart, and we sped off to the hospital.” 

“What about in the car? Did anything happen then?” 

A tear finally worked its way out, kissing along Richie’s cheek as he closed his eyes, “Nothing worth talking about. It was the worst I’ve ever felt, Eds.” 

A silence descended between the two of them, Eddie had dragged out all of Richie’s pain for examination. Richie felt raw, scraped open and left to be observed by Eddie’s eager, innocent eyes. 

“Even worse than when you fucked my mom?” 

Richie let out a small laugh, “Your mom was always a treat, Kaspbrak.” He sat back down in the chair, while Eddie yawned. “You should get some rest.” 

Eddie nodded slowly, “I think that’s a good idea, these painkillers are making me drowsy anyways. I’d like to talk more about all of this later. But Rich?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can you hold my hand while I nap? It felt nice to wake up to, I think it kept the bad dreams away.” 

And so that’s what Richie did, his heart never slowing once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank you all for reading, all the kudos and comments and hits are super appreciated. Y'all are so sweet, I'm starting to work on the next chapter right now so woo!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a card game and a pacing fiasco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 2:50 AM, I just posted chapter 6 only a handful of hours ago, but I can't help myself. These characters, man, they deserve this. Also my boyfriend fell asleep on me and I need lovings somehow. Enjoy my sporadic, chaotic update "schedule" :)

The day passed quickly, Richie silently relishing in the haze of it being their last day in this small, post-op room before the other Losers joined them and broke the bubble of a faux domestic life. They talked more, Eddie napped several times, they tag teamed questioning and chatting with the nurses, they played cards, they reminisced. This was heaven, those tall gates had been opened for Richie, he dreamt all this up on clouds of crushed velvet and with the sun soaking his skin. Being near Eddie felt like he was breathing the cleanest air, his clothes weren’t dirty or blood stained anymore. They’d been washed and dried by the magic of these many moments, strung together with the laughs Eddie afforded him and the longing glances Richie hoped Eds didn’t notice. 

The heavy conversation of the morning had been wiped away, it lingered briefly when Eddie had awakened, but slipped away with a perfect quickness. Richie used his phone to play music, an eclectic assortment of songs humming between them as Richie sat on the end of the bed and they balanced cards in the middle. 

Richie laid out his hand, “You’re lucky this isn’t strip poker, Eddie Spaghetti, your sorry ass would be naked by this point.” 

Eddie huffed, annoyed with his ninety eighth shitty draw in a row, “It’s not my fault I’ve never played poker before, I was too busy getting my education and being successful to play games and be shady.” 

“Hey! I’m successful too, jackass! And poker is definitely not shady. If this is sketchy to you, darling, I’d hate for you to know the shit I spent most of my twenties doing.”

Eddie grinned and raised an eyebrow, “Oh yeah? What sort of things were you doing?” 

Richie snorted, “Your mom.” 

“Oh come on! Will that joke ever get old to you? You seriously need new material, Trashmouth.” Eddie reached across and hit Richie on the arm.

“To be fair, you totally walked right into that one, Eds.” Richie leaned back laughing, and accidentally kicked over their cards on the bed, sending them scattering into the blanket on Eds’ lap. “Whoops.” 

“Fuck you, bro, you ruined our game.” Eddie gripped, not really meaning any of it. “I guess that just means I won.” 

“What does the winner get? A kiss?” Richie wiggled his eyebrows. 

Eddie waved a hand at him, flashing the wedding band stuck firmly around his finger. “That’d be cheating, asshole. I’m a man of my vows even if I regret them.” 

Richie gaped at him, Eddie had said that entirely too casually for the weight of his words. “What the fuck, Eds.” 

“What?” 

“What do you mean ‘what’? You just said you regret your marriage, a marriage you’re still fucking in. I mean, I know you’ve always been in love with me but still. Give me a heads up next time you decide to drop a fucking bomb like that on me.” 

Eddie grinned and hit him with his pillow, “I am not in love with you, you idiot. And don’t remind me about my marriage. It’s not something I want to be in really at all, I’d rather spend the rest of my life like this instead.” 

Richie throat closed entirely and the lack of oxygen immediately made his brain all fuzzy, his vocal cords strained when he spat out his next words, “Like this?” 

Eddie shrugged and busied himself gathering up the disheveled cards, flipping them over neatly and shuffling them together. He plucked the King of Hearts out of Richie’s limp hand before continuing, “Like this. With you, remembering the Losers, feeling safe finally. I feel whole again.” 

Richie snorted, snapping himself out of his stupor momentarily, “Whole? Is that a pun?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, “You’re such an asshole.” 

Silence pervaded again, Eddie seemed completely relaxed despite everything. His short, skinny fingers worked over the cards, meticulously correcting them and placing them where they should've been. The way his wrists turned over the deck made Richie nearly whimper, he was perfect in every way. He could practically see the way Eddie was thinking over things, calculating the risks of his decisions, chewing the inside of his uninjured cheek. Richie could tell how smart Eddie was, of course, he knew this from their childhood, but seeing adult Eddie cemented this fact in his mind. His OCD nature wasn’t just an anxious habit, Eddie saw the world differently. Watching him figure things out his own way was enough to drive Richie insane with adoration and frustration. 

“I think my marriage with Myra is just unhealthy for the both of us. You joked about it a little bit before, Richie, but I really did marry a carbon copy of my mother. I never realized it until I came back and remembered everything, our childhood, my home life, all of it.” 

He dealt out the next hand, brushing his fingers against Richie’s as he laid out the cards. “I forgot about how my mom controlled every detail of my life, how small she made me feel, you know. When I moved away, that all was erased from my mind, and I think I sought it out in Myra like on an at least a subconscious level. You’d laugh if you could see her, Rich. She’s so much like my mom you’d probably make a joke about having fucked her on accident.” 

Richie laughed quietly, “I’d try my best to refrain.” 

Eddie breathed an almost laugh, “Maybe, but you seriously wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway.” He pushed the edge of the blanket off his lap, carefully enough not to disrupt their cards, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

“Eds, what are you -” 

“Help me get up, Rich. I need to walk around, I’m losing my fucking mind sitting in this bed all day.” He gripped RIchie’s forearm, and dragged himself to his feet, attempting to smooth down his hospital gown the best he could. 

Richie averted his gaze, giving Eddie as much privacy as he could, but looked back when he felt Eddie’s nails dig in a little harder. “Are you sure this is a good idea? What if you pull out stitches?” 

“I won’t if you help me walk and keep me steady.” With that, Richie stood up as quickly as he could, completely scrambling their cards. “Relax Rich, we’ll walk slowly. I’m just jealous of all that fucking pacing you did earlier.”

They moved together slowly, keeping a gentle, almost painfully lethargic pace for Richie’s long legs. He didn’t mind, Eddie needed this. They chatted about nothing, moving back and forth between the wall and the bed just as Richie had. Eddie complained about how bad Richie smelled still, how in need of a shower he was from their fight in the tunnels. But mostly, they stuck to just the music from Richie’s phone. They were suspended in separate silences and thoughts, but both struggled in completely valid agonies. 

Sunlight streamed in through the blinds in the large windows, though it was fading and dusting the two of them in a golden hue. Soon, the automated fluorescent lights would kick on, perfectly scheduled to illuminate the right rooms at the right time. But before that, the two of them advanced across the speckled white tiles in laps to a race neither of them wanted to finish. 

Abruptly, Eddie came to a stop, gripping onto Richie’s arm. “Can we stop for a second? It hurts a little bit right now.” 

“Should we try to get back to the bed first?” Richie asked, moving his free hand to Eddie’s shoulder, convincing himself it was only to balance his friend. 

“No, no, I’m okay, I just need a second.” He frowned deeply, coming closer to rest his head on Richie’s shoulder. His eyes flitted closed, seemingly ignorant of the way it caused Richie’s heart to skip a beat and then continue, its pumping march changed, speeding up until he felt like he might combust. Daring himself, Richie slid his hand from Eddie’s shoulder to his back. Their bodies responded to each other with a natural ease until they were in a hug. 

Richie’s pulse quickened again when Eddie’s shaking hands slid over his ribs and rested on his lower back. A low hum came from his throat as Eddie turned his head and settled his cheek against Richie’s chest. A hypochondriac uncaring of the blood and grim he was resting in, a comedian with no jokes and nothing to say. Without any prompting, no care about their surroundings, they began to sway lightly. Eddie started it, itching still for some sort of movement, but Richie fine tuned it, matching their light shifting to the song. 

_ I had a thought, dear  _

_ however scary _

_ About that night _

_ the bugs and the dirt _

_ Why were you digging _

_ What did you bury  _

_ before those hands pulled me from the earth? _

Eddie’s shoulders began to shake a little under Richie’s hands, and he felt the shorter man’s head move slightly under his chin that now rested on the soft brown hair. 

_ We should just kiss like real people do  _

Eddie inhaled sharply and gripped Richie harder as Richie began stroking his hair, entirely unsure of what to do. Minutes passed like that and the phone drifted onto the next hellishly soft song. He had tried pulling back but Eddie’s grasp remained strong, his fists balled up around part of Richie’s shirt. 

_ No grave can hold my body down _

_ I’ll crawl home to her  _

Richie yearned to shut the music off, worried about what it might tell Eddie, worried about what it might inspire in himself, worried about how it might stress Eddie. But it appeared Eddie was beyond that point, fully trembling with audible sobs. “Shh, Eds, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Richie decided to use his trashmouth for good, “We’re okay, we’re here. Nothing’s gonna hurt you” 

Eddie’s muffled voice spoke out in distress, urgent in its tone. “Richie, I need to tell you -” 

_ YOUNG MAN  _

They both startled and separated marginally, staring at each other with wide eyes for a second or two.

_ I SAID YOUNG MAN  _

_ PICK YOURSELF OFF THE GROUND  _

Eddie cracked first, doubling over in laughter as Richie held him up. They both bent down with howls and shrieks until they were breathless and Eddie managed to point and spit out “Bed, please.” Richie helped drag him over, his knees giving out occasionally from each snort and roar. He swept the cards off the sheets, pulling the cloth back to help Eddie settle into them. 

Both their faces were streaked with tears, the weight of the last couple days culminating into a wicked level of hilarity. Richie quickly paused the song on his phone once they’d found their places on the bed. Eddie’s voice cracked and subsided into small giggles while Richie took off his glasses and wiped his eyes.

“I haven’t laughed like that in years,” Eddie acknowledged. His hands tugged the blanket upwards, and he placed a hand on his speeding heart, a futile attempt to regulate its beat. 

Richie nodded in agreement, “Me either, and that’s saying something since all the people I’ve spent time around for the last twenty seven years have been professional comedians.” 

“I don’t know if I have any energy left after that.” 

“Should we get some rest? Big day tomorrow, with the room transfer and visit and all.” 

Eddie nodded while Richie slid off the bed, heading towards the chair. “Wait, Richie?” 

“Yes, my love?”

“Can I still hold your hand when I sleep?” 

The smile on Richie’s face grew slowly, “Of course, Eds. You don’t even have to ask. You know well enough what I’ll say.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, of course, do not own any of the songs mentioned within this chapter. In order of appearance: "Like Real People Do" by Hozier, "Work Song" by Hozier, and "YMCA" by Village People. I laugh at myself way too much when writing this.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie enjoy a game of pass the bagel and pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm sorry this chapter took so long for me to get out, this week has been really busy and I finally admitted to myself that I should probably write out essays for my college applications before spoiling myself with fanfic. Ugh, being responsible. 
> 
> In other news, I'm absolutely blown away by the response this story has received, it is so so so nice. 830+ hits and 90 kudos is so crazy, I expected 5 hits at the most, lol. Thank you all, enjoy this next chapter :)

It was a bagel launched by one Edward Kaspbrak that finally woke Richie. His head sprung up, removing his face from the nest of blanket folds against Eddie’s leg. Curls sticking everywhere, glasses tilted, and forehead red from the contact of the wrinkled cloth, Richie returned to the world of the living with a flash of light. 

“Goddamn it, Bev, delete that shit right now.” 

“There’s no way I’m doing that, Trashmouth.” Her beautiful ruby lips spread into a devilish smile as she showed the screen to Ben, who examined it from over her shoulder. 

“Hey, Rich, what’s your Instagram handle so we can tag you in it?” Ben asked.

“Who the fuck has an Instagram? That’s for the youths,” Richie adjusted his glasses and stretched.

Eddie scoffed, “You’re a famous fucking comedian, why don’t you have an Instagram? Is that why no one goes to your shows?” 

“You know what, Eddie, I’ll take you to one of my fucking shows -” Richie gestured towards his lap and made an obscene gesture. 

“That doesn’t even make any sense you moron!” Eddie flushed, crimson peeking out from the bandage on his cheek. “And I already fucking told you I’m married.”

The others watched this banter, amused. The room transfer had happened early in the morning, when Eddie was officially cleared for a larger accommodation with more chairs and a box TV on the opposite wall. “We’re moving up in the world, Eddie, my love.” Richie had joked when they saw the ancient looking device. The sun was still attempting its slow crawl over the horizon, so when they settled and Eddie had acquainted himself with the bed, there was a wordless decision made to sleep again. Eddie negotiated the Losers’ visit while Richie kept napping, and then proved entirely impossible to wake. The others tried everything, Eddie insulted him, shook him with his leg, and still nothing. A brief moment passed in which Eddie thought his friend might be dead. Saying Richie’s name produced no result, it wasn’t until Bill offered Eddie a bagel from their run for breakfast that Richie was able to be brought back. 

A bagel that Richie was now thoughtfully chewing while the others asked about Eddie’s healing process. He swallowed a big piece, dry, and wished for something other than burnt coffee to drink. “He’ll be out of the hospital in only a few days, if he acts in pain he’s fucking with you,” Richie said dismissively with a grin, “Little spitfire was up out of bed dancing all last night.” 

“Oh my god, do you ever shut up?” Eddie shot him a pointed look. 

“Never, I’ve made a good living off never shutting up.” 

They all quieted, Richie smiling to himself around his food, Eddie picking at his muffin. The others balanced various breakfast foods on their laps while Bill contented himself with only a disposable cup of coffee.

Mike leaned forward and cleared his throat, bringing the group’s attention to him. “What’s next?”

Richie looked at him for a long moment, Mike seemed more different than all the others. It was odd, seeing as though Mike was the one to stay and remember, it was almost as if his decades in Derry had molded him in a highly specific way the others didn’t experience. He hadn’t had the opportunity to wander, adventure and discover himself. His life lacked that recklessness Richie chased for years, that familiarity Eds and Beverly sought, the love Ben pursued, the buffer Bill hunted. 

Ignorant of the other’s thoughts of him, Mike continued, “Where do we go from here?” 

The levity from moments before shrank, making space for a feeling more serious and tender. Ben and Bev were the first to admit their plans, the plans being generated in the back of everyone’s minds as soon as they’d defeated It. “We’re leaving soon, Bev contacted her lawyer and we’re going to go away for a little while things blow over.” Ben explained quietly. 

“I’m proud of you, Bev.” Bill gave her a gentle smile, one she returned easily. Richie watched, trying to read them the best he could. It all seemed genuine, and despite everything that had happened, he believed Bill’s sincerity. 

“Thanks, Bill. What are you going to do?” 

He let out a long sigh and laughed, “I have a movie to write and finish. And a really angry wife to placate.” 

“Do you think after this you’ll finally write a good ending after all the shit we’ve been through?” Richie snorted. 

Bill laughed, but Eddie answered for him, “Do you think after this you’ll finally start writing your own original material, asshole? Give Bill a break, at least he writes his own stuff.” 

“Touche,” Richie grinned. “What about you, Mike?” 

A slow, sweet smile dawned, shining its light on Mike’s face. “I think it’s nearly time to visit Florida. It’s calling my name, I swear.” 

They all smiled at that one, and Richie could swear he was seeing the Mike that should’ve had an opportunity to grow when they all did, to develop his personhood when they’d all aged and did so themselves. 

“I think,” Eddie started, then looked doubtful when they all turned their gazes to him. His landed on Richie’s face, and Richie felt those brown eyes scanning him. Eddie looked down at his lap and raised his hand, spreading his fingers just slightly before slipping the ring off. “I think I’m filing for divorce. I can’t go back to that. I- I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I packed most of the important stuff with me to bring to Derry. It had felt like I wasn’t coming back to her.” 

“Oh Eddie,” Bev’s eyebrows were turned up in sympathy. “Hun, I could give you my lawyer’s information, he’s really good at these types of things, very discreet.” 

Eddie nodded gratefully, “I’m not sure if Myra will let it be discreet, but thank you so much. Maybe it’d be a good idea to call with you before you leave.” 

“Of course, I’m more than happy to help you make that call.” Bev spoke softly. 

Bill patted Eddie’s knee, and expressed his support before they all turned expectantly to Richie, who had forgotten to breathe. 

His blue eyes were wide, he felt them open and close and open, and still he wasn’t seeing anything. They had lost focus, he was in a bubble, the others out of focus and muted. It popped when Eddie touched his shoulder, “Rich?” 

A choking noise came from his throat, and he bent over in a coughing fit. “Holy shit - that damn bagel- you’re trying to kill me, Eds -” He pounded his own chest with a sideways fist. When he finished and came back up, his eyes were watering, and it seemed no one was buying his bagel cover. Beverly smiled at him knowingly.  _ Of course she knows.  _

“I’m good, I’m good, don’ t worry about me, I’ll live. Might need more surgery than Spaghetti over here, but it’s all good.” He rattled on. 

“Just get to the point, dipshit. What are you going to do?” 

Richie paused and stared at Eddie, noticing for the first time the bags under his eyes and the gaunt look that had entered his face, thinning out his already slim cheeks and jaw. The shadow cast by his bandage found a comfortable home in the unkempt facial hair growing along his cheek, giving Eddie a more haggard look than anything he would've willingly chosen for himself. Richie observed the hospital gown too, considering it for the first time as well. Its thin papery material did little to properly cover Eddie, and even with the blanket pulled up, it was obvious how thin Eddie had become from subsisting on a meager diet of bland hospital food and the one burger Richie provided the night before. _He's still beautiful,_ his brain unnecessarily reminded him_._

“I. I really don’t know, Eds.” He gave a deep breath before continuing, letting his mouth take over for his brain, “I just know I wanted to say sorry about yesterday and blowing up on you guys, there’s not much of an excuse for it, I’m sort of an asshole. Thank you for, you know, being patient with me.” 

“You’re just tired, Rich. We understood, I don’t think any of us took you too seriously.” Ben offered. His sweet hearted nature had apparently not diminished over the years, Richie noted. 

Eddie snorted, “When do we ever take Richie seriously?” 

They laughed, Richie was just grateful for the group’s acceptance of his admittedly lackluster apology. He still felt a twinge of guilt, but it nearly evaporated as soon as Bill spoke up next. “R-Rich, you s-should prob-bably go r-rest and s-shower. We’ll s-stay with Ed-die.” 

He swallowed thickly and nodded, pushing his glasses up to shield his eyes. He knew this moment was coming, lurking in the shadows to mug him for his happiness and bliss. He knew it was easier just to give in, and besides, he really did need a shower if he didn’t want to end up like Eddie too, in some hospital bed suffering from a preventable ailment. 

“Who is going with me? I sort of don't have a car or my car keys with me, and I'm not walking my fine, famous ass across Derry.” 

“I will, don’t worry. I drove over separately since I’ve gotta go to work soon anyways.” Mike stood and clapped Richie on the back. “I’ll drop you off at the Townhouse on the way.” 

Richie gathered himself and stood, avoiding looking at Eddie. His brain yelled at him to stay put, soak in the presence and appearance of the injured man. He ached to press his lips to Eddie’s forehead like he had back in the cavern, the mere thought of repeating the act making him weak in the knees. 

Instead, he willed his legs to move towards the door, only jerkily spinning back around once he reached the door and was well out of Eddie's reach. Winding up, he threw the rest of his bagel at Eddie’s head. “Eddie, my love, don’t die on me before I get back!” He sang.

“You motherfucker! That is so unsanitary, how many germs are on this fucking bagel -” 

Richie grinned as he stepped into the hallway, listening to Eddie’s voice yell his name several times the rest of the way to the stairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random note: I keep coming up with fic ideas and oneshots throughout the week, but they're all like way further in the chronology of this universe than where we're at right now. Would y'all still be interested in random oneshots being published separately? Or should I just wait until I'm down with this fic and work them into a part two fic? Let me know your thoughts, I want to at least release a Halloween oneshot either way. 
> 
> Also I planned out the rest of this fic, more or less, and wrote the final scene because I can't help myself. So don't worry! I have no intentions of abandoning this story, even if my updates are irregular.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has a bad time and throws up three times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this took so long to get out, I got suuuuper busy this week and then went to write today but sort of got fucked up and then my brain didn't work! But I had some water so now I'm good!

“Are you sure you’ll be okay here, Rich?” Mike had questioned, his concern voicing itself loudly. 

“Of course, yeah man.” Richie rubbed at his face and donned a grin, “Don’t worry about me, you should get to work, you gotta make those big dollas, make all the library goers holla.” 

Mike winced and a hand wandered to the back of his neck, “Yeah, I think most of my time in the library now is spent answering to the police and nervously pacing over the spot where, you know. That happened.” 

“Oh.” Richie stopped. “I forgot about that, I’m sorry Mike.” How had he forgotten? Richie had taken a life only a few days before. Sure Henry Bowers was a fucked up monster, barely passable as a human, but he was still technically a person. A person Richie had struck with an old ass hatchet, the blade cleaving through hair, skull, brain. The taste of bile rose quickly in Richie’s throat, his mind flashing images he didn’t want imprinted there. The metal disappearing, the sickening noise, the red splatter, Eddie’s horrified expression. Richie gagged a little, covering the action with a cough. 

Mike rested a hand reassuringly on his back, rubbing small, mildly uncomfortable circles. “No no, Rich, don’t be sorry. You saved my damn life, I can’t thank you enough. You don’t have to apologize.”

Richie nodded, still working the bile back down into its proper place. “You don’t have to thank me either.” 

Mike smiled gently at this as Richie’s choking subsided slowly. “Will you really be okay alone here?” 

“I will. I’m just going to take a shower and change into some cleaner clothes, maybe pack a bag for Eddie or something. A little care package for my wounded Eddie-bear.” Richie laughed without much enthusiasm and headed for the stairs. He turned back to Mike.

Mike dropped his hands, “Well, that sounds good. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.” He strode to the entrance, turning back as if he was going to add something. But he abruptly closed his mouth and continued his trek to the parking lot instead. 

Richie shrugged it off, and resumed his own journey towards his room. Opening the door, he frowned deeply at the sight of his bag open on the bed, its sad contents spilling out onto the disheveled sheets. The last time he’d slept in the bed was the night of the dinner reunion, the night before they breached Its lair, the night before he nearly lost everything.The room’s state clued Richie into how wasted his life had been before. Of course, he had been  _ fine _ for the past twenty seven years, his existence as a mediocre, mildly repressed comedian had shuffled him more or less comfortably into his late thirties. His routine of impermanence had carried him well to success and ease, the lack of perfect fulfillment didn’t matter. He’d always promised himself that the rewarding feeling and contentment would come with writing his own material, with maybe someday decorating his sad apartment, with making friends. All were eventual events, his go to options for filling out goal sheets, vision boards, and five year plans. 

But he understood now where his happiness had rested all these years. It’d buried itself in a fuckhead asthmatic with mommy issues and a cushy job in New York. New York fucking City, the city where Richie had lived for years and performed innumerable times. He’d tourist-ed his away around the streets like any good American in his ugly button up shirts. He’d stumbled on the pavement after succeeding and failing during his formative performances. Had he ever run into Eddie? Driven past his house? Encountered his wife? 

Richie’s wild eyes resumed their job of scanning the room, landing eventually on the mirror opposition of him in the bathroom. His cracked glasses prevented him from seeing all of his appearance in perfect clarity, but that didn’t matter. He sucked in a harsh breath at viewing all the reddish brown. His yellow shirt had been smothered in dirt, grime, and blood. He caught glimpses of the gore staining his own skin under tears in the fabric. Seeing his wild curls paralyzed him, he was sure he could feel  the bits of distinctly human matter cementing the tendrils of hair together. 

His heart lurched as he locked the door and padded towards the bathroom. He discarded his two shirts, fingers shaking over the buttons and then struggling with the tattered hem of the t-shirt. The same hands suddenly reached out for the toilet lid, slamming it up before Richie knelt down and that stale fucking bagel made a dramatic reappearance. 

Trembling fingers materialized in his line of sight, their shape swimming in the tears obstructing his view. A keening sound surrounded him, he was vaguely aware of his own bile-ridden throat being the origin. Another wave of nausea overwhelmed him, and he bent quickly over the toilet bowl. 

Moaning softly, Richie sat back, his shoulders pressing against the cool surface of the tub. He dug his palms against his eyes as he let his sobs take him.

“Fuck, Eddie.” He croaked out. Agony drew from him his most sensitive parts and played with them like a child’s toy. The funniest part was Eddie wasn’t even dead. Richie was being ridiculous. And yet, he acknowledged as he pushed himself to stand and clutch the sink, his heart was breaking in his chest. “Eddie.” 

Fumbling, Richie undid his belt, zipper, and climbed out of his jeans. His eyes wandered to the mirror once more, causing him to gasp again. The hair on his body had trapped much of Eddie’s blood, which had dried. Cracked pieces of blood matted itself in his chest hair and had glued down the hair on his thighs. The blood soaking his clothes had stained his partially tanned skin. A third roll of disgust overcame him, and this time the bagel found its home in the sink basin. 

“Oh my god, that’s disgusting,” Richie murmured. “Eddie, I’m so sorry for the mess I’m making.” 

He stood panting and crying pathetically for several long minutes, before turning to the shower, flipping the control to as-hot-as-fucking-possible, and climbing out of his boxers. Soon the water was running over him, taking the blood with it and filling the bottom of the tub with a lake of pink. 

He cried and scrubbed for an hour, turning the pads of his fingers to prunes. He searched himself for injuries as carefully as Eddie would’ve. Working out the kinks in his hair was another completely fucked up endeavor, he briefly entertained the idea of shaving his head for the sake of getting rid of the blood, but laughed at himself with the mental image of how bad he would look. 

Eventually, the water ceased to terrify him with its unsubtle reveal of how covered in grime he was, and the shower became relaxing. He stood below the shower head for an absurd amount of time, and only got out when the water finally turned cold and he ran out of tears. 

“Why did I fight an evil alien clown in my favorite shirt?" he lamented. He quickly bundled up his disgusting clothes into the trash can, flushed the toilet, and tried his best to rinse the vomit down the sink drain. It was gross work, but kept him occupied before he returned to the bed. Tossing the bag off the bedspread, he knelt down to charge his phone when a piece of paper tucked in his pillow caught his attention. 

Plucking it out of the folds and smoothing it out with tired hands, he read it and blinked back tears he didn’t believe his body could produce. “Oh fuck, Eds…” 

_ Dear Trashmouth,  _

_ I believe we might die tomorrow night and I’ve been thinking about a lot. I’ve run the numbers over in my head, and I don’t think this is promising. None of it is: the fight, defeating It, Mike’s ritual. But I guess the last twenty seven years haven’t been perfect either. I don’t know what your life has been like, but I wish I did. I want to know more, I want to fill in the blanks.  _

_ I remember a lot now, Rich. It’s coming back slowly. I remember the hammock, the ice cream, the comic books. If we die, I want you to know that you’re special. You always were my favorite Loser. A lonely shut in with asthma couldn’t have asked for a better childhood. I don’t know everything yet about that childhood but I do know you made it for me. So thank you, asshole. _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Eds  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heart, poor Richie :( Don't worry, he gets his happy ending eventually


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie does some snooping and considers the philosophic implications of one's toothbrush color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This chapter is a little longer than many of the ones I've posted before, but it's actually closer to my goal length for all chapters. I'm hoping that I can work up my writing to have every chapter be similar in that regard to this one. We'll see, yo. Enjoy!  
Also, short addition: Thank you everyone for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, etc. I'm so touched by everyone's thoughts on it, and I genuinely have fun interacting in the comment section. You guys are so rad. Okay, goodnight! it's 1:26 here, peace out.

Richie’s heart had never beat faster than when he jerkily took his phone off the charger and strode across the hall to Eddie’s room. Typing his pass-code in with an embarrassing amount of failures, he eventually managed to hit call on the correct contact while he turned the handle of Eddie’s door. It opened with ease just as the first ring sounded into his ear; the sound felt off, distorted, his phone definitely required some repairs after its hardships in the cavern and grey water. 

“Richie?” They answered on the second ring, a sense of urgency and breathlessness evident in the voice. 

“Hey! Bev!” Richie stalked inside the room, unsurprised with the lack of a lock in the shitty hotel.

“Are you okay? Should one of us -” Panic rose in her tone, evidently caught off guard by his call.

“No! No, I mean, like. I’m okay, but no, you don’t have to come get me. I found my car keys so I’m all set on that front.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to keep forming a coherent sentence amidst his jumbled thoughts. “Can you do me a favor?” 

“Of course, hun. What is it?” 

“Put Eddie’s dumbass on the phone please, I’m pretty sure his phone is broken or lost or dead, I tried calling it.” 

“Oh! Sure, here he is.” 

A pause filled the line, it lingered for too long. _ I swear to God if Eddie is arguing about picking up the phone, _Richie thought. He surveyed the contents of the room, noting how neat Eddie’s bags were tucked against the far wall. His eyes wandered over the bed, it had been made, but not perfectly. The folds weren’t the tight, crimped lines that hotel beds typically had, indicating an inexperienced hand had tucked those sheets below the mattress. 

“Hello?” Eddie’s voice finally filtered through Richie’s ear, and he nearly sighed. 

“What kind of weird asshole makes their own bed while staying in a hotel? Isn’t that condescending to the people who clean the hotel?” 

“Fuck you, dick!” Richie pulled the phone away from his ear, wincing at the animated voice. Eddie continued, “I like my bed being made when I’m not in it - and have you ever seen a staff member in the townhouse? No? I didn’t think so. There’s no fucking way my bed was going to be made any other way and -”

“Dude, calm down. I’m not judging too hard,” Richie resumed casually, moving forward to scout out the room. He bent down to pluck one of Eddie’s larger suitcases from the floor, swiftly pulling it up to rest on the bed. He groaned as quietly as he could, even the small effort of moving the bag made his sore, bruised muscles yell. He slid the phone to rest on his shoulder, pinned against his ear, as he set to unzipping the luggage. “I’m just saying, Eds, it’s mildly serial killer behavior to make the bed in a hotel, seems sort of sociopathic of you.” 

Eddie grumbled in the phone, “You’re such a dick. Why are you even in my room anyways? How did you get in? I thought I locked it after. You know.” His tone dropped to an uncomfortable pitch. 

Richie’s eyes drifted over towards the closed bathroom door, standing up straighter. He knew Bowers wasn’t in the room, but his blood and _Eddie’s_ blood certainly had remained there. If the bed hadn’t been made and the carpet not vacuumed by any staff, the tiles most definitely still enjoyed their own bath in red. He hadn’t seen the room himself, though he was tempted to go look. Ben and Beverly had described the scene in gentle terms to him, but he was sharp enough to fill in the rest of the picture. Unsure of how he’d react to seeing anymore of Eddie’s gore, Richie resigned to waiting for that temptation until he was at least off the phone. 

Instead, he breathed in slowly and began again, “Well, Eddie-bear, I believe it’s becoming more and more evident that this hotel doesn’t give a shit about their customers, much less their security.” He lowered to a whisper in his British Voice, “I dare say, my love, they haven’t even replaced my soap in my shower, nor taken care of the condoms I left laying on my floor! How scandalous! I will have their head!” 

Eddie laughed, “You’re so damn weird. But why are you in my room? Don’t tell me you’re looking through my stuff.” 

Richie whistled, “I hate to break the news to you, darling, but that’s precisely what I’m doing.” He had started shuffling through the suitcase, pulling out clothes and flinging them on the smooth bed. 

“Get the fuck out of my suitcase, or so help me God, Richard Toz-” 

Richie snorted, “Richard? Chill man, I’m grabbing you some clothes and stuff for the rest of your hospital stay. I’m trying to be nice.” 

Eddie huffed, “For once.” 

Richie moved onto the next suitcase, lugging it to a spot beside the open and nearly empty one. “I’m wounded. Would you prefer your blue plaid boxers or your plain gray ones? Personally, I think the gray ones are too light, they’d show your shit marks too easy.” 

“You’re so fucking disgusting, oh my god. I hate you.” Eddie gagged, fully working himself into his arguing mode now. Richie really laid on his annoyance thick, trying as best to get as many rises out of Eddie as he could. The note on his pillow remained buried in his mind, currently burning a hole in his pocket. It made him uncomfortably aware of his own feelings for Eddie, if he could only get them back into their pissed off, venomous routine, maybe things wouldn’t feel like doomsday was approaching. He wasn’t sure how much he could handle of the sweet gestures, pinning, the _ hope _Eddie’s announced divorce gave him. Finding the unusually gentle note, Richie was startling reminded of how delicate their dynamic and relationship was. Keeping himself and his feelings quiet was safe. 

Well, he wouldn’t technically be quiet quiet, he grinned to himself as he kept up the bickering. He teased Eddie relentlessly about the items in the suitcase, only feeling mildly selfish for keeping Eddie on the phone, away from the other Losers. That thought piqued his curiosity. “Hey, are the others there?” 

“Ha, no. They left to go to the cafeteria about four minutes into our conversation, Bill said they’d get a snack since you and I would be talking awhile.” Eddie said.

“Oh. Okay.” Richie thought on that, trying not to dwell on the privacy the Losers seemed compelled to provide. “Which sweatshirt do you want? There’s a light one and an NYU one.” 

“The NYU one sounds good to me.” 

“Okay,” Richie extracted it, about to set it off to the side to stuff in his duffel bag. “Wait - are you sure? Maybe the light one would be better, it has a zipper. It’d be easier to put on, you wouldn’t have to pull it over your chest and hurt.” 

Eddie paused, his silence made Richie flush. Maybe it had been a stupid suggestion, was he offended at Richie correcting his choice? Eddie pulled him out of his panic, saying, “You’re right, that’s smart. Let’s go with that one then.” 

Richie replaced the sweatshirts, collecting a small pile of things to bring. He’d grabbed a couple outfits for Eddie to choose from, several pairs of socks in case his socks got dirty walking on the hospital tiles and he wanted to change them, packed a spare charger for Eddie’s questionably located phone, and pulled out a journal that seemed important. Richie banned himself from snooping in that, but a quick look at a single page revealed the same type of paper as the note he’d received. He worked in silence, tugging open the final compartment in the second suitcase. 

“Thank you, Rich.” Eddie’s small voice flitted through the phone, reminding Richie of his presence. He’d nearly forgotten they were on the phone, if not for the crink in his neck and Eddie’s gratitude. 

“Hey, man, it’s no problem. You deserve to be comfortable for as long as you’re going to be in that hellish place.” Richie’s hand shuffled around the last portion of the bag. It held a lot of papers. He pulled a stack out, skimming over the lines of the top one. It was a marriage certificate, officiating the union between _ Edward P Kaspbrak _ and _ Myra J Hambly _ . Richie’s stomach dropped, and his fingers moved onto the next sheet, Eddie’s birth certificate. Then, his Social Security card fell out onto the comforter. _ What the hell? _

“I mean it, ‘Chee.” Eddie continued, oblivious to the things Richie had in his shaking hands. Richie hummed, vulnerable with the use of childhood name. “It’s very generous of you to help and it’s just. I appreciate it. Thank you for caring.” 

Richie huffed out a weak laugh, “As if I could stop myself from caring.” 

“I’m just saying, you should be like prepping to go back to LA, go back to life like the others are.” 

“Do you _ want _me to go?” Richie questioned, shoving the papers to the bottom of the pile for the duffel bag. He sped up his actions, trying to get back to the hospital. 

“No!” Eddie started. “I mean, you can do whatever you want or need to do, I understand if there’s like something or, um, someone waiting in LA for you, you don’t have to stay like on my behalf or anything. “ 

Richie felt the beginning of a headache coming on, “Eds, I’m single as the Pringle can I fuck sometimes-” 

Eddie’s laugh interrupted, “Wait, you fuck Pringles cans? How does that even work, you fucking moron?” 

Richie sighed, “I’ll give you a private lesson sometime, how bout that Kaspbrak? I gotta go, the others should get the opportunity to actually talk to you anyways.” Richie steeled himself as he glanced towards the bathroom door. 

Eddie almost sounded dejected, but bit back a reply. “Oh, alright. Well, see you soon, asshole.” 

Rolling his eyes, Richie snarked back, “Don’t cry in my absence, dickface.” He promptly hung up, and tossed the warm phone on the bed as he tensed, quickly pushing to the bathroom before he lost his nerve. 

He heaved the chipped door open, ready to fight anything on the other side. He nearly slipped in the blood on the floor, his feet caught up in the clear plastic shower curtain, crumpled, wet on the floor. The bathroom smelled strange, the vaguely off white tiles of the floor slick with blood, not all of which had yet coagulated. Richie struggled between choosing to breathe through his nose or mouth, either tasting the gross, stale air, or smelling the mix of Bowers’ and Eddie’s blood. His eyes landed on the toothbrush and toothpaste resting on the sink, spots of red had spattered the porcelain counter nearby. “Okay, well, looks like I am going to the store.” No way he was going to make Eddie brush his teeth with an old brush, and especially not one anywhere near Bowers’ blood. 

Abandoning the toothbrush he sought, Richie instead snatched up the toiletries bag on the back of the toilet. He scooped up the pile on the bed, shoved his phone in his pocket, and got the hell out of the room. Entering his own, he made quick work of packing his duffel bag with a strange mix of his and Eddie’s things. It made his heart feel weird to see his own underwear next to Eddie’s legal documents and polo shirts. He sort of liked it. 

As soon as he could zip the bag up, he snatched his keys and charger, lazily shutting the door to his hotel room behind him. He kept his trip to the store short, anxious to get back. His thoughts roamed along with him, driving down the short, plain streets of Derry. The roads seemed calm, the town sleepy and unassuming as always. The undercurrent of Its power had very obviously dissipated, however; at first glance, the already small town looked dead, dragged down into the depths with Pennywise. Richie shuddered, Derry had always been quiet, but now, gazing over the various quaint buildings of main street, the people of Derry themselves were quiet. Their simmering hate and malicious ignorance of their surroundings felt tempered, as if the very people promoting the negativity had disappeared as well. Richie was unsure whether or not he felt comforted by this. The vibe of evil had decreased, but it felt as though half the population had left along with it. 

Luckily, the cashier at the general store had not been sucked away into the void by Pennywise’s death; the acne ridden twenty something year old hadn’t hated enough to be taken away, Richie guessed. She had stared at him lifelessly as he rambled about the difference between soft and medium bristled toothbrushes. It had been a serious dilemma for him, he had stood before the wide shelves of brushes for several minutes. Did Eddie have a preference? Most definitely, he did, the weirdo. Richie decided on medium, it was a safe average he assumed. Plucking one off the hook, his heart dropped. _ What about color? _

He decided on two different colors, Eddie could choose first, Richie would pick the other one. “I mean, I think my friend seems like a blue toothbrush guy, but how can I know for sure?” Richie queried philosophically at the checkout line. 

“Would you like plastic or paper?” The woman asked, without interest. 

“Really, he could totally be a red toothbrush person. But do I really want to be close to someone who has a red toothbrush? That’s a messed up person. I don’t think I could be friends with someone with a red toothbrush.” 

She had moved on naturally to plastic, and placed the potato chips in a bag. She reached for Richie’s bottle of wine, and tossed that in as well, indifferent to the wince of pain he gave in honor of his now smashed chips. “Cash or credit?” 

“I’ll do you one better, I bid thee debit.” He quipped, clumsily jabbing the card in the machine for the chip reader. 

Minutes later, he collected his bags, the plastic handles digging into his wrists. His drive to the hospital was short, only about ten minutes, and he slipped his bottle into the inside of his jacket just in case before heading to Eddie. 

The hospital room was empty when he entered. Confused, Richie sat his things on his chair. He followed a soft noise to the bathroom, where yellow light emanated a mellow glow. Leaning around the doorframe, he made eye contact in the large mirror with a bare chested Eddie, whose hand clutched a crumpled, bloody bandage. Eddie whimpered as Richie’s gaze lowered to the mangled hole, still bright and angry with its jagged lines held together with stitches. He stepped forward to catch him just as Eddie’s knees gave out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to write another chapter tomorrow hopefully, but I need to keep working on college app essays. I have to go to an event to fill out the FAFSA tomorrow morning, so yay me! Taxes! IRS! Government financial jazz!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie blurts something heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. I'm sorry y'all, I made a mistake in publishing chapter 11 before. I wish I could say it was rushed, but that's not true, the first time I wrote it out I spent like six hours on it. For some reason, I still struggled with it despite the time spent and I really didn't like the direction I went with it, or how I made it to those big plot points. So I deleted chapter 11 and rewrote a fair bit of it.
> 
> If you read chapter 11 the first time it was published: The plot and outcome is basically the same, but the dialogue is incredibly different. If you want the full effect and the rest of the story to make perfect clear sense, you might want to reread this chapter. If you're okay just knowing the major plot details, you could probably be safe skipping out on a reread. I'm sorry again. 
> 
> If you didn't read chapter 11 the first time it was published: Welcome, keep reading! I hope you like it, I'm so much more satisfied with this compared to what it used to be. 
> 
> I'm sorry for the confusion, I hope that the better quality of this chapter makes up for it.

Richie caught him just in time, or basically just in time. Eddie’s knee still hit the cupboard below the sink and his elbow smacked hard on the porcelain in his attempt to catch himself. Richie’s arms grabbed him, taking on the burden of Eddie’s lighter than expected weight. 

“Eds!” Richie pulled him up a little, trying to position Eddie so he wasn’t completely crumpled on the floor. He gripped around his sides and dragged him upwards, a wave of sickening deja vu crashing over him. He was back in the cavern, tugging Eddie’s body up towards the light, trying to make him comfortable, coated in blood, running, running, running. 

Eddie yelped in pain as Richie adjusted him, the tugging motion forcing his chest to move in ways almost excruciating. “Richie, fuck -” Tears started streaming down Eddie’s cheeks, and he leaned even closer against Richie’s chest. 

Forcing himself to relax, Richie loosened his grip and knelt down on the floor, feeling the shock of cool tile through his jeans. He plopped down gracelessly next to Eddie, who turned to face him and took shuddering breaths, racked with sobs. Their shaking breaths filled the room in a way Richie would’ve made an inappropriate joke about in any other context. The didn’t speak for a long time, Eddie frozen next to him. When Richie eventually did shift, Eddie yelped again. 

“Eds, we have to move. You need to get a bandage on your injury.” 

“I don’t wanna, Rich. I want to go home,” Eddie moaned in a low voice. His hands shook against Richie’s sides. “I don’t want to stay here in the hospital.” 

Richie’s brows furrowed in confusion. He didn’t understand, his little spitfire hypochondriac wanted to get away from safety and medical equipment. Part of Richie regretted he hadn’t opened that bottle of wine, another equally sized part thankful of his lack of alcohol in his system. He needed to focus, but God, what he wouldn’t give to take the edge off. “Eddie, it’s okay, I got you. I got you. We’re going to get up together.” 

Rubbing his hand over Eddie’s back, Richie noted an absence of a response on Eddie’s part and counted that as an okay to move. He began when a voice startled him, his eyes flying towards the door. 

“Oh my god, guys! They’re in here!” Bev’s short red hair shook as her gaze alternated rapidly from the scene in the bathroom back to the other Losers. 

Richie looked at her desperately. “Help me get him up! I think - I think he might’ve torn his stitches.” Eddie had gone nearly silent against him, Richie wanting to beg him to say something, make some comment, or throw some jab. It could have been anything, a joke about Richie’s appearance, his stupidity, his shitty comedy. He would’ve gladly chosen that over the silence, the quiet reminding him eerily of the cavern. The cavern, God, the cavern. Richie’s throat tightened and he immediately felt the distinct lack of air going to his brain and the muscles straining to hold Eddie as close as he could.

“Oh god, Eds” Richie murmured, his heart beating too fast, his head swimming as his surroundings felt blurred. It was like being high, the world around him shifted so hard while he floated above it. 

Ben appeared before them, Bev having moved out of the door frame. Richie could faintly recognize steps and calls for a doctor, believing them to either be Bev’s or Bill’s. Clasping Richie’s arms underneath Eddie, Ben instructed Richie to move a certain way, “Let’s move on three.”

“On three or after three, or like right before three? Because I have this problem where sometimes I move preemptively -” Richie rambled. 

“Richie! Pay attention. On three,” Ben insisted desperately, starting his countdown. 

“Oh shit.” Richie gulped bile down his narrow throat, scrambling to his feet to keep in pace. They actually did go a little after three, Ben lied, the fucker. Pulling Eddie up as gently as they could, Richie and Ben draped his arms over their shoulders. Richie’s hand found its way to hold around Eddie’s waist, feeling like his palm had mere seconds before it caught fire. His focus rested entirely in reaching the bed, but he peripherally noted Bev and Bill returning breathlessly with a doctor in pursuit. 

Richie and Ben had just set Eddie, who was still conscious and less limp than he had been on the bathroom floor, down when the doctor spoke. She brushed past them effortlessly, adjusting the sheets around Eddie’s body and producing equipment from the pockets of her coat. “Please return to the waiting room while I tend to Mr. Kaspbrak.”

“Wait!” Eddie squeaked. They all stared, Richie’s air finally returning in shuddering measures. 

“Can one person stay at least?” 

The doctor paused, pursing her lips. “I suppose that will be okay, I’m going to tend to your wounds, you need to remain calm while I do so. Keep that in mind when picking who stays.” Her reproachful gaze circled around the Losers standing around the room, though her message directed itself at Eddie. 

Richie found brown, hesitant doe eyes looking at his while Eddie uttered his name. His mind shut down entirely as he let his legs lead him to the chair next to the bed. He felt more and more like he was pacing towards his doom and his heaven. Once seated, he felt Bill’s hand clap on his shoulder in a reassuring gesture before the others exited. 

They stayed in silence, Richie offering no more support than his quietness while Eddie trembled under the doctor’s tools. His occasional mutterances of pain and the doctor’s questions about Eddie’s action and wound disrupted the room only. Richie was grateful to learn Eddie had not in fact torn his stitches in his fall, he only managed to irritate the wound in yanking off the bandage. Near the end of the procedure, Eddie finally spoke. “You’re weirding me out not talking, Rich.” 

“You signed it ‘Eds.’” Richie muttered, his voice hollow. 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie griped. “And I didn’t sign anything. What the hell are you talking about?” 

“The note. On my pillow.” 

“Oh.” Eddie’s eyes lit up in understanding and he began to flush, his cheeks had already been red from crying, but this additional embarrassment deepened the color to near scarlet. The silence returned, daring both of them to speak while the doctor remained professional, caring for her patient despite the dramatic scene unfolding before her. 

She finished her task and placed the final layer of tape over Eddie’s bandage, and almost sounding tired, began, “Please do not take your bandages off again, Mr. Kaspbrak. You shouldn’t have seen it alone, but of course, you know this. It’s detrimental to your recovery and can hinder your progress in these hard times.” She began setting an IV, placing the needle with a scary level of efficiency. “I’m going to give you some painkillers to help ease the pain, but you need to be careful. We’ll be in to check on you again in about forty minutes.” 

She gave Richie a small smile as she made her leave, Eddie thanking her as she entered the hallway. The click of the door handle had Eddie and Richie looking at each other again. 

“So you found the note? I wondered why you, um. Didn’t say anything before.” Eddie said meekly. 

Richie sighed, removing his glasses and scrubbing a hand over his face. Too much had happened in the last few days for his brain to be operating at even fifty percent capacity. “Yeah, well, I was pretty fucked up the night you left it on my bed. I was in a state I plan on returning to,” Richie stood up smoothly and wandered over to his jacket on the chairs adjacent to the bed. He grabbed the bottle he’d tucked away, and quickly peeled the cheap cap of it. The wine was so inexpensive and weak, it didn't even have a cork. He sat back down, resting the glass rim against his dry lips and downing as many swallows as he could. It hurt a little, to be so cliche and revert to such a classic, overused coping mechanism. But, he shrugged to himself, such was life. He needed this.

Eddie stared at him with an unreadable expression. Richie grinned back at him, and cracked a joke, that’d soothe the tough crowd, “What is it, Eddie-bear? I’d offer you the other half of the bottle, but you’re on painkillers.” He took another deep drink, savoring the burn it left in his tight throat. Wagging his finger, he smiled. “That’s risky business mixing the two.” _ Just like you and me, _he thought to himself. 

“I wish you wouldn't do that.” Eddie said softly, reaching for the bottle. 

Richie retracted his arm, out of Eddie’s reach. “Do what? I’m just enjoying reminiscing on the thought of your mom’s vagina.” He downed another quarter of the bottle. 

“Richie! For fuck’s sake, give me the bottle.” Eddie reached for it again. “You can never take anything seriously, you fucking dick.” 

Richie held up a finger and tipped the rest of the drink back. When it was done he sighed dramatically in satisfaction and grinned, “Well sorry Eds, my love! My bad I have to cope when the world’s falling apart and you keep making me feel crazy.”

Eddie glared. “I’m making you crazy? You’re the one drinking like a maniac, I swear to God if you get alcohol poisoning.” 

Richie shrugged, “Maybe I could get the bed across the room from you. We could be hospital buddies, I’ll brush your hair and we can stay up late talking about boys.” 

“Will you stop joking around for two seconds? You’re giving me a headache.” Eddie sounded exasperated. “I don’t like watching you drink yourself in a stupor.” 

“I don’t like watching you sit in a hospital bed.” Richie pointed out, pouting his lips and raising his eyebrows. His glasses had long since been abandoned, he wasn’t quite sure where they had gone. “Though, technically I’m not really watching you, since I can’t see shit right now.” 

“It’s not my fault I’m in a hospital bed, jackass.” Eddie sat up, pushing his blankets off his lap. 

Richie straightened, his smile faltering as he held out his hand when Eddie began scooting off the bed. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You have to stay in bed, you have a damn IV in your arm.” 

Eddie kept scooting. Desperate and confused, Richie stayed as he was, until his palm met Eddie’s warm chest. He jumped back like he was scalded. Richie nearly whimpered at the touch, “Eddie, you have to stay in bed. What are you getting up for?” 

“Your glasses, you can’t see without them.” He replied simply. 

Richie froze. He licked his dry lips, trying to will himself to relax. His body radiated tension at the thought of Eddie being so considerate. “Eddie, I’ll find them. You really do need to stay here.” 

It took Richie only a couple minutes of searching to find his glasses. He put them back on his face, closing his eyes and observing the warm feeling the liquor had given his body. It felt tingly and like his sinuses were buzzing. It made his fingers twitch for a joint to accompany the drink. Only Eddie’s voice pulled him out of his reflection on his vices. 

“Will you look at me? The whole point of finding your glasses was to help you see.” 

Richie smiled nervously, his blue eyes slowly revealing themselves to the world, his world sitting in front of him. They stared at each other for several moments. “Of course I’ll look, Spaghetti. Why would I pass up the opportunity to see your cute cute cute face?” 

Eddie scowled. “Can we talk about things seriously now, ‘Chee?” 

Richie’s lips parted in a silent sigh at that old nickname, but he nodded without thought. 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Eddie began. As soon as the apology left his lips, Richie started to interrupt but was silenced with a pointed look. “I’m sorry about overwhelming you. The note is probably a lot, you finding it when you did was poor timing.” He shrugged, shifting in place. 

“I’m not.” Richie muttered.

“You’re not what?” 

“I’m not sorry about the note,” Richie clarified, pushing out a long breath. The weight of all of this made its presence known, but Richie had promised to be serious, and forced himself to stay in this vulnerable mode.”What you said meant a lot to me. And um, you’re my favorite Loser too. Always have been since we were kids.” 

Eddie watched him strangely, the soft expression in his deep brown eyes making Richie’s pulse quicken. Eddie licked his lips and Richie scolded himself for how fast his eyes moved to watch the motion. “Since we were kids.” He echoed. “Am I still?” 

“Still?” Richie stared lamely, his stomach flipping. 

“Am I still your favorite?” 

“Eds.” Richie closed his eyes, he wasn’t sure if he could handle this, the truth feeling like acid on the tip of his tongue. If only he could open his trashmouth and let it drip out, just saying it all would give some relief. Expelling it would do something, he wanted so badly for it to come out. “You know the answer to that.”

He was persistent. “I want to hear you say it.”

Worn down, Richie felt everything in him, all the anxiety and alcohol and pinning, cascading into a massive reservoir with a cracked dam. The more Eddie talked and looked at him like _ that_, the larger the fissure in the side of his cement barrier grew. Thirty some odd years of repression will break a man, make him give in eventually. “You’re my favorite, Eds.” 

Eddie’s voice was so soft, so gentle. “Rich?” 

“Hm?” Richie hummed, squeezing his eyes shut harder.

“Are you okay? You’re crying.” 

The alcohol was a bad choice. He knew that now, he recognized it in the way his empty stomach acids were churning with the wine. He was going to be sick. _ No you aren’t, keep it together, you dick. _ He was going to smile. _ Turn your lips, you fucking moron. _ He was going to crack a joke, his vocal chords started to make sound. _ Say something funny, you asshole. _

“I’m gay.” He blurted.

Eddie’s eyes immediately widened in surprise and he flushed, “Oh.” He sputtered a little, trying to say the right thing. “I mean, that’s good. I’m totally cool with things - like, things like that. It’s the opposite of bad.” 

The acid and alcohol mixed faster, spinning waves into a vortex Richie felt was going to come spinning out. 

“I’m going to be sick.” And with that, Richie exited stage right to the bathroom, where he threw up for the fourth time that day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Richie is out! Again, I'm sorry for the confusion. I have a lot better a plan for where the next chapter will go since there won't be a ton of heavy stuff in it. If I can catch up on homework yo (I just spent 20 hours in a car this weekend, so I'm going to pull an all nighter tonight), then look forward to that chapter coming out soon ;)
> 
> Also shameless plug, I started writing a completely unrelated one shot type thing of Richie and Eddie for Halloween when I got super stuck with this storyline. It's called Offerings, I'm nearly done with the final chapters and will have them out in a few days. Go check it out if you're down for Halloween angst after Halloween!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has a coming to Jesus conversation with Bev. 
> 
> TW: For implied sexual abuse/general abuse (when Bev discloses information about her marriage with Tom). There's nothing explicit, but just a heads up if you're uncomfortable with the relationship Beverly and Tom had

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly guys? Team Bev, she's a goddess. I love writing exchanges with her and Richie, they have a great dynamic because Bev takes no shit like Eddie, but isn't as fired up and aggressive. Anyways, this chapter ended up being longer than I intended because their conversation just kept coming, so there's less action in this one. But don't worry! That will come soon. Enjoy :)

This time Eddie stayed in bed, a fact for which Richie was grateful. He stayed hyperventilating in the bathroom until he worked up the courage to come back to the bed, sat back down in his chair, and waited until the others returned. 

When he left the bathroom, Eddie opened his mouth to speak, concern written all over his face, but Richie held up a finger. “For once, man, I don’t want to talk. Can we just wait for the others?” 

Hesitating, Eddie frowned and twisted up parts of the blanket in his lap before nodding. They didn’t speak, the tension and awkwardness palpable, both their eyes searching around the room aimlessly. Eddie huffed out a breath, “I fucking hate this.”

Richie looked up at him tiredly, “What?” 

He gesticulated wildly, his arms waving as much as possible with the IV in. “Fucking this, man! It’s too quiet.” 

“That’s strange, you always bitch about me talking too much. Do you want me to tell you the story of the first time I fucked your mom?” 

Eddie shot him a pointed look, “Fuck off! God, I wish I had a book or something to do.” 

Richie raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth. 

“Don’t say it, asshole. Don’ t you dare.” Eddie’s scowl deepened. Richie closed his mouth.

There was a quick tap on the door, which promptly swung open and welcomed a crop of red. Bev poked through and smiled at seeing them together, “Is there trouble in paradise? We could hear you guys from the nurse’s station.” 

“That was Eddie -” Richie said, interrupted by Eddie’s “Hey!” But he continued nonetheless, directly his words at Bev as the rest of the Losers sans Mike filed in and took their places. “Is there still shitty coffee down at the station? I’m dying for a drink.” 

“You just had a whole bottle of wine, you don’t need to drink any coffee, jackass.” Eddie contested. “You need to drink water, alcohol dehydrates you.” 

Richie rolled his eyes, “Water is for nerds. I need a cigarette. Bevvy, please indulge me for a minute.” He stood, smoothing down the front of his shirt. He gestured loosely at Ben and Bill, “You two entertain Eddie, he’s so bored of me he wants to _ read. _ Bleh.” 

“I’m not bored of you, asshat!” Eddie cried indignantly and Richie pretended his exhausted heart didn’t react to that at all. 

“Whatever, Spaghetti. We’ll be back!” Richie started towards the door.

“See you guys in a minute, love you.” Beverly kissed Ben on the cheek before hurrying to catch up with Richie long legged ass already out in the hallway. When she stepped in stride with him, she looked up, puzzled, “What was that all about?” 

“What was what about?” He queried, stuffing his hands inside his jacket pocket. His hands felt strange, it felt like some of the wine was beginning to make its appearance in his bloodstream, and he shook a little.

“The whole Eddie in the bathroom thing, the you smelling like a soccer mom's book club two hours in thing.” She prompted. Her thin eyebrows pushed up and met in the middle of her forehead, her muted green eyes portraying pure confusion.

“Well, I got thirsty and couldn’t handle all the shit going on.” He shrugged, trying to stay casual. The drinking and throwing up had really gotten to him; he was starting to feel a really awful mix of tired and jittery, the bud of a migraine starting to bloom directly behind his frontal bone. “And Eds and I didn’t even talk about the bathroom thing yet.”

They strode past the check in desk, out to the parking lot and past the benches right in front of the door. Silent, Bev took quick, patient steps in time with Richie’s long, nervous strides. His walk was starting to really feel off, his balance starting to prove questionable. Beverly glanced at him from the side, and simply stepped closer, looping her arm underneath his and settling it around his waist to help steady his gangly form. 

The quiet between them persisted until Bev sighed, “Richie, you gotta knock this off, hun.” 

He laughed, the world seemed suddenly very funny, “I don’t know if I really can. To quote a contemporary masterpiece, I am fifty shades of fucked up.” He grinned at her. 

She looked at him, shaking her head and laughing despite herself. “I’m serious, Trashmouth, which I know is something you’re not capable of being.” They stepped onto the curb near Richie’s parked rental, and Rich leaned against it, grateful for the hood to prop himself up against. Bev fished a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, followed quickly by its brother the lighter. She slipped one between her lips and passed another to Richie before she shielded the end of the cigarette from the wind with one hand and lit it. Once Richie got ahold of the lighter, he lit his own cigarette and they both embraced the strong tobacco flavor, enjoying the rush of nicotine privately. 

Exhaling, Richie turned over the lighter in his hand, studying it. It was plain emerald green, though the hue matched Bev’s overall palette well. Still, he griped as if he were with Eddie, “I’ve gotta say, your lighter is pretty boring, Marsh. I’d expect more flair from a famous designer.” He handed over the small item, and Bev slid it back in between a zipper in her purse. 

She managed a tight smile, “You know, sometimes plain colors are quite fashionable. Not every piece has to make a statement.” 

Richie shrugged, and then moved to catch himself from falling before taking another drag. “I wouldn’t know.” He chuckled, gesturing down at his clean Hawaiin t-shirt, the design riddled with tiny flamingos. “Really though, a lighter says a lot about a person. Symbolizes their inner self and shit.” 

Bev sounded impatient, “What’s on your lighter then, Richie?”

He giggled, his brain feeling tired and slow. He didn’t want to give away the punchline just yet, but he couldn’t help but laugh as he admitted the lighter’s design, “It’s a rainbow.” 

Her eyes softened as she exhaled slowly, and as gently as she could, she whispered, “Why?” 

Richie stared at her, his mood swinging to pure confusion, he had lost the point of the joke. Why had he been talking about lighters at all? His smile faltered and he struggled to verbalize his thoughts, “W-Why? What is why?” 

“What does the rainbow on your lighter symbolize, Rich?” 

Richie started laughing, peals of it falling out of his tight chest and tumbling out of his mouth. “My flaming homosexuality.” There it was, the punchline. Now that it was out, his laughter started turning to confusion and tears again. 

Bev calmly stepped forward and plucked his half burnt cigarette out of his fingers, stamping both of theirs out on the ground. She laced her fingers together with one of his shaking hands and took her place next to him, leaning against the hood of the rental too. Eventually, Richie found his head resting on her shoulder, Bev standing tall for him. He cried quietly, and her heart ached for him. 

“Richie, you know we all still love you. I’m happy you shared this with me.” She squeezed his hand in the most reassuring way she could, her thin, small fingers running over the back of his. 

He nodded against her shoulder, but no comment. Several minutes passed with them like this before he admitted, “I told Eddie.” 

“About how you feel?” Bev’s hand squeezed his.

He shook his head weakly, still crying with the miniscule amount of energy he had. At this point, his emotionally drained and exhausted brain didn’t even react to Bev’s assertion that he loved Eddie. He didn’t contest the claim, and strangely, it didn’t feel as bad as he expected to just let his confession hang in the air. Having someone else be in on the secret of his decades worth of pinning didn’t make him feel any more awful. And that was surprising, he didn’t even feel ashamed that Bev seemed to have known of his feelings already. But maybe that lack of shame and fear was due to the alcohol, in any other context, Richie most likely would’ve abused himself for being so easy to read. He answered, “No. Just the gay thing.” 

She nodded briefly. “Did he take it well?” 

Richie gave a small shrug, sniffing, “Yeah.” 

Closing his eyes, Richie tried to stem the flow of tears and focus on his breathing. He felt so confused and overwhelmed, and the analysis of his feelings didn’t stem much beyond that in his head. Instead, he simply replayed the events of the past day, running over a loop of the shower, the note, the bloody bathroom, finding Eddie, coming out to not one but two people. He felt so detached from each event now, leaning against a car he didn’t even own in Derry General Hospital’s parking lot. If he tried hard enough, he had confidence he could eject his own dampened spirit from his body and watch himself from a birds eye view. Spirit Richie could observe Physical Richie from a safe distance, laughing and tilting his head curiously at the form of himself below shaking, crying, and whimpering. The thought alone made Physical Richie laugh. 

“What is it?” Bev asked softly, and Richie noted from a quick glance that she had closed her eyes.

He licked his lips, and shook his head. “Just dumb stuff. Shouldn’t I be happy? Doesn’t gay mean happy?” 

Bev chuckled, “Rich, you know that’s ridiculous.” 

He sniffed hard, tired of crying and feeling so drained. “I mean. Shouldn’t I feel relieved? I came out and haven’t been like. Hit with a stick yet or anything.” 

Lips quirked up into a small smile, Bev turned and looked at Rich, “A stick?” 

He shrugged again, it was becoming an unusually common gesture for his lanky body to make. “Or a rock. Or like a shoe. Or a train. It doesn’t matter, it’s dumb.”

Bev leaned back, dropping Richie’s hand and winding her arm around his shoulder instead. Her nimble fingers, made flexible and skillful from years of sewing, nestled in his curls. Her short nails scratched gently at his scalp, petting his hair and separating the wild strands with a moving amount of care. He nearly gasped, just the presence of her hand and the tender affection it provided lightened his headache and cleared the fogginess in his brain. He was close to either moaning in contentment or making a grateful joke before Bev cleared her throat. 

“You know,” She began, not moving or stopping her hand. Her tone immediately told Richie that what she intended to say was important, she was imparting a secret; and, despite her calm, quiet voice, listening to her talk like _ this _ was rare. It was like listening to a church choir welcoming him home, her's the strongest voice of them all, disclosing everything he ever needed to know. “I think I understand what you’re saying, it’s relieving to not be rejected. But coming out hasn’t fixed anything, right?” 

He simply nodded, knowing she had more to say. 

She tilted her chin up, the petting her hand was doing sped up marginally. “When I came out first, it was to my husband, Tom. He’s a mean son of a bitch, but I’m not sure if I knew that then. It was a casual thing, me coming out. I was nervous, but I was in love and I don’t know, I thought that maybe would protect me or something. Nothing could go wrong because we were just so in love. Or I was, I don’t know.” She laughed, only mildly bitter. Her laugh was something of acceptance, of disillusionment, of just plain regret. 

“What happened?” A feeling of sour dread curdled in the pit of his stomach, adding itself to the census of weird, strong emotions he’d felt that day. 

She breathed out slowly, “He ultimately used it against me. He wasn’t angry at first, he was somewhat accepting and I think excited about what it meant for the bedroom. He’d alternate between being okay with it, then being jealous.” She hesitated. “Then he wanted to watch, said I had to do it for him because I was betraying him by being attracted to women anyways.” 

Richie grimaced, feeling a surge of anger and disgust at Bev’s confession. The weight of it all sobered him up a little, and reassured him in a fucked up way. He wasn’t the only one to have his sexuality used against him; the literal monster who leveraged his was comparable to the monster who leveraged Bev’s against her. It made him sick, even more so than when he came out to Eddie or cried in the Townhouse bathroom. This ill feeling couldn’t be expelled, his body couldn’t react in any satisfying or relieving way to this, it was a horrific truth they had to live with.

Unable to change the past, Richie did all he could do, and turned, wrapping his arms around Bev’s thin waist. He bent over her, his hair still held tightly in her grip. “I’m sorry, Bev. I’m really sorry.” 

Their embrace held more comfort and sincerity than anything Richie had experienced in the last twenty seven years, except maybe the touches he’d been sharing with Eddie as of late. Touch starved did not even begin to describe him. And that realization was incredibly sad. Sighing, Richie pulled back, “Thank you. Should we get back?” He jerked his head back towards the hospital. “We have potential spouses to return to.” 

Bev smiled, her chin tucked down slightly and teeth all flashing brilliantly. Her hand moved from the back of Richie’s head to his stubbled jaw. “Speaking of, you should tell him, Rich. You really should. He’s getting a divorce. And I know you maybe want to give him space, but really.” 

Richie smiled and shook his head. “I am absolutely giving him his space, otherwise my blundering ass would be in that hospital bed every night instead of in that damn chair.” They began to walk, picking up their cigarette butts to throw out. “Plus! We don’t even know if he’s gay!” 

Beverly stopped walking and gave him a pointed look. “Trashmouth, come on. You’re slow sometimes, but stop. You’re smarter than that, with your natural straight A student ass.” 

Richie floundered, stopped and looking at her back as she continued to walk towards the entrance. He caught himself, and jogged up to her as she reached the walkway, stuffing the snuffed out cigarettes in a disposal container. “What the actual fuck does that mean? Not the metaphorical fuck, or the theoretical fuck. What the legitimate, serious fuck do you mean, Marsh?” 

She giggled, her voice like that silvery noise again. No wonder both Ben and Bill fell for her, her charm was incredible, even when she scolded Richie. “I mean, Eddie loves you. He looks at you like you hung the moon. And I also mean, he’s certainly something not entirely straight. He’s absolutely not looking at his wife like he looks at you.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I don’t know much about Miley, or Megan, or whatever. But she sounds like a bitch, like Mommy Dearest Kaspbrak.” 

Beverly nodded, leading their charge into the hospital. They were quiet until they reached the elevator, not trusting the bored looking people in the lobby to hear their conversation. Derry had an odd way of feeling intrusive and like it was eavesdropping still, the Losers unquestionably remained outsiders in the town. “I can’t wait to get out of this town,” Bev muttered. “I think you might be onto something.” 

“I’m onto something?” Richie asked. 

“Yes, Trashmouth. Stop acting dumb, we’ve already established you’re smart.” She turned to him after pressing the button for their floor. “Myra sounds unpleasant, she’s absolutely manipulative, and I think she pulls a lot of the same moves that Eddie’s mom did when we were growing up. Eddie used my cell while you were gone to call her, and I honestly tried not to listen, but even through the phone, I could hear.” She gestured with her hands, moving them out from her chest for emphasis. 

Grimacing, Richie’s alcohol and exhausted addled mind raced through all the implications of what Bev was saying. Eddie’s mom’s behavior had been undeniably abusive and if Mira or Maya or whatever was like Mrs. K, it didn’t bode well for Eddie. Richie grappled with this information, how would Eddie recover in the shadow of his toxic wife? How had he truly been living for the last several decades? Were there more reasons than just instinct that led Eddie to pack all of those documents? Of all of these questions, Richie forced himself to settle and ask just one. “Was Eddie okay?” 

Bev hesitated, “I thought he was, he said he was used to this type of thing with her. He asked to be left alone, and so we respected that. You saw him after that, in the bathroom.” 

“Christ.” Richie scrubbed a hand down the side of his face. “I probably should’ve handled that better.” 

“Well,” Bev started, stepping out of the elevator onto the familiar tile of Eddie’s hallway. She offered her hand to Richie, a beacon for him to accept and follow. “Let’s go handle the rest of the night better and get you back to your potential spouse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always guys, thank you for your patience, I don't know what the fuck a sleep schedule or eating schedule is, so it shouldn't surprise me I also don't know what a writing schedule is. I'm writing these as best and fast as I can, thanks for hanging on through my random hiatuses. I just got through finals week and that was a trip. But, I only have class two days this week, then woo break! I don't want to jinx myself, but expect more updates hopefully in the next week.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie leave the hospital, let's celebrate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back babes! Life has been a lot, as y'all maybe are experiencing now. I'm in quarantine until April 13th at the earliest, and I don't want to jinx myself, so I won't say I'm going to keep updating. But expect more updates.
> 
> It's so strange being back here, but I'm really excited to be. It's odd, I'm a different person than I was back in November, but here I am, still indulging myself in Reddie content.
> 
> This chapter will be longer than previous ones, as my formal apology for being away for so long. Enjoy, lovelies :)

Potential spouse might have been an exaggeration, Richie’s reunion with Eddie wasn’t as lovey as marriage may imply. All he remembered of coming back to the room was Eddie’s blurry form flipping him off and scolding him for being outside so long, while he tried not to cry more. 

Richie slept off his wine drunk stupor in the shitty, uncomfortable chair next to Eddie while the Losers said their goodbyes at the end of visiting hours. When he woke up, he and Eddie tried their best to return to the teetering levels of normalcy. In the days that passed, Eddie healed - and really well the doctors noted. That was one of two things Richie couldn’t help but notice in all the time he spent with Eddie. That Eddie’s recovery was scary fast, the deep wound knitting itself together like it had been stitched by a grandma on cocaine. A week after Neibolt, Eddie didn’t need support walking and stayed awake for longer periods of time. He began eating more, returned to using sweeping motions while talking, and laughed without clutching his chest much. 

While the health professionals observed Eddie’s recovery with alarm and confusion, Richie paid it little mind. He noticed it, but failed to care much about the Wolverine-esque regenerative abilities Eddie appeared to possess. What mattered was his Eddie coming back stronger and stronger every day. He could walk, didn’t need physical therapy, and wasn’t in pain. Even if his rapid healing likely resulted from the aftermath of It and the magic imbued in Derry, it still gave Richie hope and cause for happiness.

The second observation, however, didn’t make him as joyful. Something had changed between them, and the tender internal part of Richie couldn’t help but blame it on his abrupt closet exit. He picked up on the shift in the days that passed them by: the way Eddie’s brown doe eyes caught the light differently when he looked at Richie, the thoughtful scrunch of Eddie’s nose he thought Richie didn’t see, his embrace of independence walking by himself. Chalking it up to his own insecurity, Richie tried not to project himself onto Eddie’s successes. Maybe Eddie just enjoyed the freedom, maybe Richie was only being paranoid. But still.

“Will you stop biting your nails, it’s so fucking gross,” Eddie swatted at his hand.

“Woah, dude, what the fuck!” Richie startled and jerked the steering wheel. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you and your fucking nubbins of fingernails? So unhygienic. Do you have any idea how much gets trapped under your nails?” 

Richie just stared at him. They had rolled to a stop sign, and in towns like Derry, stopping for minutes or hours made no difference. No one was behind, or ahead, of them; Richie thought he didn’t need to wait for anything ever again sitting there looking at Eddie. 

“What?” Eddie questioned. “Why are you staring like that? I’m right, asshole.” 

He blinked, and in a quick motion, licked the hand not on the steering wheel before sliding it down the side of Eddie’s face. 

“Oh my fucking god! I’m going to kill you, you fucking fuck dick!” 

Richie just smiled and pulled forward, heading across town. He laughed while Eddie cursed at him, reminding him that he couldn’t kill the person driving both of them. “If you kill me, who is going to chauffeur your sorry ass to dinner? You ever think about that, you turd?” 

“Ben would come pick me up, he’s nice.” 

Richie nodded thoughtfully, “He is indeed nice.” He turned, driving back behind the library’s pitiful lawn and into the even more pathetic plot of gravel it called its parking lot. “He has a nice ass, too. Nice everything. Talk about a glow up.” 

Some part of him immediately regretted making the joke, his slip about checking Ben out. The hopeful slice of his soul, free from the closet, wanted to test the waters. He panicked, opening his mouth to add more stupid jokes to cover up the remark. But, then Eddie laughed, nodding slightly. “A serious glow up, I’m jealous.” 

Richie’s stress over the joke immediately lessened hearing that and he pulled into a spot, if only a little crookedly. Checking the back windshield for anything behind them, Richie put his hand on the rim of Eddie’s seat. He straightened his parking, glancing back again. His eyes wandered over Eddie, an Eddie staring back at him, his face turned. His jaw was a hair’s breadth from Richie’s wrist, his lips so close to his pulse. Richie couldn’t pull away, they focused on each other for too long a moment. The way Eddie gazed at him, unreadable, made Richie want to die. Fuck, he thought. 

A loud beep drew them both out of it, Richie’s head whipping back to look at the steering wheel. His hand had shifted and hit the horn, and he sighed a breath of relief. The rollercoaster of tension they were on gave him whiplash. Turning the key, he scrambled out of the car. When he stood, his knees and ankles cracked and he stretched his arms towards the darkening sky. 

Eddie laughed, “You’re such an old fucking man.” He stepped out, grabbing the grocery bag on the floor and shutting the door.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Reading Glasses.” Richie stepped towards him and reached for the bag. “Here, let me take that.” 

“I can carry it, I’m capable of carrying shit.” He pulled the bag towards him defensively. 

“I know you are, jackass. I just don’t want Bev seeing me empty handed and you carrying the fucking bag, and then she’ll kick my ass in front of everybody.” He took the bag as they headed towards the front of the library. It swung between them like a plastic pendulum, counting the moments of awkward silence that fell over them. 

The library wasn’t massive, but it did stand proudly as one of the larger buildings in Derry. It competed with the school, only blocks away, and rows of sizable brick main street buildings. Down the road aways resided the drug store, and several blocks down and right, the dilapidated arcade rested with its boarded up walls of terrifying and glorious memories. The sun set past those places, on a horizon far away from this shitty town and everything they had experienced. As Richie padded across the soft grass of the lawn, feeling no comfort from the lilac and rose sky, he cursed the town. Fuck Derry, fuck its pretty veneer. He didn’t understand how the sun could put itself to rest with such a beautiful cover of clouds over that scar of a town. Or how such pleasing amber bricks could make a protective shelter for such awful experiences in the buildings. The whole place felt off to him, despite everything they had been through to save it, and that only made him more resentful. 

“Sooooo,” Eddie interrupted Richie’s existentialism.. “Do you have a, like, a tier ranking of our asses?” 

Richie had to stop walking, bewildered and a howl of laughter came tumbling out. He laughed so hard he struggled to stand, and Eddie joined him after a few hesitant and coy chuckles. He stared at Richie’s bent form, his black curls reaching towards the grass and his broad back hunched forward. “What? I’m serious, it’s a legit question.” 

A minute passed until Richie could stand, wipe his eyes, and answer. “No, I do not have a tier list of your asses. I’m not that type of gay.” 

“I don’t mean it like that! I just wondered!” Eddie flushed, heading towards the library door. He grabbed the long brass handle and swung open the behemoth glass door, holding it for his stumbling companion. “Bro, shut up, we’re entering a library!” 

“One that’s closed you headass.” He passed by Eddie and winked at him. “Check out my glutes, Eds, you might want to add them to your spreadsheet.” 

“It’s - It’s not a spreadsheet, fucker. I don’t have a spreadsheet or a tier list!”

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Bill’s voice questioned from the front desk. 

“See, Eds, he’s talking in a normal voice, it’s cool.” Richie, trying to stifle his laughter, strolled up to the rest of the group, sitting around and on the massive desk. Bill stood in front, so Richie hugged him first. Pulling away and reaching out for the next Loser, he answered, “Nothing important, Billiam. Edward’s just being cheeky.” 

“I swear to god, Richard.” Eddie joined him, starting to hug the Losers as well. It had become a habit, from the visits to the hospital. Ben and Bev had started it, the big softies. 

They talked for a minute, each Loser getting caught up in the rapture of being with the group. They indulged themselves the comforting presence of each other, pieces to the same puzzle. Only missing the final piece, Richie noted ruefully.

“So what did you guys bring to the party?” Bev dug through the plastic bag Richie had sat down. She lifted up a bottle of wine and two bags of chips. “Richie.” She shot him a look. 

“What?! Mike told me we were getting pizza, so I didn’t get real food.” He defended.

“Rich, I think she means the wine.” Ben added, standing behind Bev. 

Richie held up his hands and walked back a half step, grinning, “That’s not mine, officer. I have no idea how that got in my bag, it was probably my spunky compadre, the notorious Eddie Spaghetti, ow -” Eddie elbowed him. 

Bev simply rolled her eyes and placed the bottle back in the bag, “We’re keeping an eye on you, Tozier. Hey, Mike, should we head upstairs? I wanna see your place.” 

Mike smiled, “Sure, now that the gang’s all here. We’ll send someone out for pizza later, I just got to finish up a couple things down here. Bill can show you the way, he’s been here before.”

As Mike turned to log off the few checkout computers on the front desk and fish his keys out of his jean pocket, Bill stepped forward. He grinned sweetly at Mike and took the key to the upstairs apartment from him, “I’m happy to, as long as you don’t do to them what you did to me when I visited.” 

Richie’s eyes widened and he looked at Eddie next to him for his reaction to the line; he opened his mouth to make an inappropriate joke. But Eddie smiled and quickly put a hand over Richie’s lips, reaching for the bag and saying, “Great! Show us the way, Big Bill.” 

As the group walked, Bev and Ben chatted with Bill, Richie and Eddie naturally falling back with each other. Richie contemplated the exchange they’d witnessed when Eddie tugged on his arm and leaned up into him. He whispered while keeping his eyes on the rest of the group’s backs, “Is it just me, or are Bill and Mike into each other?”

Richie nodded and put on his British Voice, “Astute observation, Eds, I dare say I agree wholeheartedly.” 

Eddie grinned and pushed Richie’s side, the touch making Richie smile even wider. They followed the rest through an employee’s only room, and to an inconspicuous door. If Richie had no idea about the apartment that existed beyond it, he would’ve assumed it was a closet. But as Bill opened the door, a steep, dark staircase revealed itself. The stairs led to a modest entryway, filled with a coat rack against the back wall, and an alcove with stacks of old books. Walking around the railing to the stairs, Richie noticed a massive wooden dinner table covered with equally old and dusty books, some open, some with pencils wedged between pages as a bookmark, some with pages folded out, depicting strange symbols and texts. 

He bent over them, reaching out to touch the pages. “This is some shit my ex would freak out about.” 

Ben picked up a book from the other side of the table, giving it a weird glance before setting it back down. “Should we be going through Mike’s stuff? Isn’t this invasive?” 

The group all looked up from their spots around the apartment, their heads all whipping up to face Ben: Bev had set up in the kitchen, unloading the sad content of the bag Eddie had given her, Bill was already in the living room, arranging chairs for everyone, Eddie had just investigated the dust on a pile of books. They stared at Ben, until they all started laughing. 

Bill chuckled, “I don’t think Mike cares, we didn’t grow up together or anything.” He clapped Ben on the back, and moved past him towards the table. Ben shrugged sheepishly and started helping him move chairs to the living room. 

Richie watched until he heard the door at the bottom of the stairs open behind him, he called out to Mike, “Hey man, do you mind if we snoop through your shit?” 

Mike gave him a strange look and laughed, “Nah, it’s cool.” He moved past Richie, “Just don’t touch any of the books on this table, a lot of them are cursed.” 

Richie dropped the book he was holding, brushing his hands off on his hoodie. “Jesus, man, warn a guy.” 

The others laughed, and Mike pointed out, “I just did!” 

Before long they all had settled in the living room, a cozy space with a light brown area rug laid over the dusty hardwood floors and a simple, secondhand couch pushed against the wall. They cloistered around the low coffee table in the middle, cleared off so they could set their drinks down. It didn’t take much time until the wine, and beer Bill brought, had been busted out, and Richie found himself on the floor leaning against Eddie’s chair from the table. They sat in a circle, a familiar and comforting arrangement for the group. Ben and Bev took the couch, and Bill claimed one of three chairs. Eddie and Mike sat in the matching dining chairs, leaving the floor for Richie. He didn’t mind, he preferred spreading his long legs out anyways and sitting on the floor gave him ample opportunity to poke Eddie’s leg and bother him. 

The conversation floated around the room easily, like a ball being batted from one hand to the next. Eddie asked questions about Bill’s books, having apparently read them; Bev questioned Mike about his plans to go to Florida; and Richie and Ben spent some meaningful time throwing a wadded up gum wrapper at each other like children. 

Times like this were easy, when Richie felt at home. Leaning back in between Eddie’s knees, watching the other Losers be safe and happy, nothing made Richie feel better. It was like a high, something he’d chased for so long without getting it. He’d spent so many years of his life on stages and in situations performing for everyone he met, in the vague hope that someone along the way would make him feel. Part of him mourned that lost time, spent with worthwhile people in their own way, but without the ones who made him feel invincible. He shuddered on that word, invincible, remembering the clown. They had to have been invincible to kill It, to reunite after such strong forces tore them apart. A flash image of Eddie’s wound made him tense and the word suddenly felt like a mockery of them. Maybe invincible wasn’t right. 

A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his careening thoughts, and he jumped a little. He craned his neck to look back at Eddie, who gave him a soft look, his eyes open and questioning, his mouth set in a simple small. Richie nearly melted feeling Eddie’s thumb begin to rub caring circles into his back. “You okay?” Eddie mouthed, and Richie nodded, turning back to the coffee table and leaning back even further in Eddie's touch. Maybe invincible was right. 

He locked eyes with Bev, who gave him a classic Bev look and sat forward. “So, Trashmouth.” Bev started, smiling at him from the rim of her beer can. 

“Yessum, Miss Marsh?” He mirrored her, taking a sip of his wine.

“You mentioned an ex when you were rummaging through poor, sweet Mike’s things?” 

Richie swore his felt the hand on his body still for a fraction of a second before resuming, the rubbing becoming harder. Richie gulped, “Yes, ma’am, I did. I have, in fact, dated people, which I know shocks all of you unfairly hot people.” He raised his glass towards Ben and winked. 

Bev rolled her eyes, “Whatever, Richie. Tell us about them, I’m dying to hear about whoever was lucky enough to date Trashmouth.” 

“There’s not much to say about them,” Richie shrugged. “I will say that the girlfriend you’re talking about was big into some weird, cult shit, like Mike, but minus the need to fight a demon clown.” 

They laughed, and Mike nodded along, taking a drink, “I won’t argue that it’s some weird shit.” 

Richie grinned, “If you truly must know, Bevvy, my girlfriend was pretty easy to please. Which is why she stuck around with me for so long. All I had to do was say “tarot’ or speak in Latin to make her go woah.”

Their laughs provided Richie with all the positive reinforcement he needed to continue, fake moaning and calling out random phrases. “Carpe diem! Suit of pentacles! Oh Richie!”

Bev ended it by throwing a pillow in his face, which he pulled into his lap and sprang up, moaning out even louder, “Take me, you wizard!”

“Shut up, Richie.” Eddie said through his laughs, steadying himself with Richie. The laughs of all of them gave him a high, but Eddie's laugh, right in his ear as Eddie steadied himself. That was on a whole other level. 

Bill chuckled over his glass, “You sound like a fucking Cards Against Humanity card, Rich.” 

“Oh god, Richie might as well have invented that game,” Ben said.

“If I invented that game, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you nerds, I’d be enjoying my private island and Eddie’s mom.” He felt a slap on the back of his head. 

“You motherfucker.” 

“Yeah, Eds, that’s the fucking point.” Richie laughed and hit Eddie with the pillow. 

“Boys, if you’re going to wrestle, don’t spill wine all over Mike’s carpet.” Bev scolded them. 

After a moment, Eddie quietly asked, “So, um, not to be lame or anything - “

“Like that’d be out of place with this group,” Richie sighed. 

“Let me finish, fucknut. What is Cards Against Humanity?” 

And that was how Richie found himself spilling wine on the carpet in shock. “Eddie, my love, how have you never heard of Cards Against Humanity? I can’t be seen with you.” 

“Oh fuck off, I’m sorry I’ve been trapped in a boring adult life not playing card games like a child. We’ve talked about this, I got my education and success instead.”

“To be fair, Cards Against Humanity is pretty overrated, only kids who don’t know how to cuss yet like it.” Bev offered. 

Richie turned on her incredulously, “Not you too, Ringwald.” He pointed an accusing finger at her, “You just haven’t played with the right people. This here is a fantastic group. Mike, do you have the game? Please tell me you have the game.” 

Mike gave him a look that told him everything he needed to know. 

Heaving a massive sigh, Richie stood up, his knees cracking theatrically. He mourned the loss of Eddie’s hand from his shoulder, but he had a mission. “Whoever is the most sober needs to come with me to the store to get the game, and I’ll buy you a slushie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked!! I worked really hard on this chapter, but if it feels different, I'm trying to get back into the feel of things. Any comments left are very much appreciated, let me know what you think. Your guys' comments really do sustain me and keep this work going, I reread them over and over. Thanks guys


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers have a final celebration and Richie gets a hold of a hammer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I didn't take another months long hiatus, woo! My boyfriend was occupied for like three hours tonight, so I got into hyper focused mode and grinded out this thing. I'm pretty happy with this chapter, I like that I've upped my word count by a lot. And, fear not, basically the rest of this story is planned out. You may have noticed I put an end number of chapters, I have serious plans to finish this thing and I think you guys will like the ride I've drafted up. 
> 
> Anywho, I hope you all are remaining safe, sane, and happy. I know things are really scary right now, I hope I can provide some comfort in this light story. Enjoy, you lovelies :)

“Okay, Benny boy. As the youths say, let’s get this bread.” Richie said as he entered the Walmart. It was a fifteen minute drive on the highway outside of Derry, but well worth it. Bev had sent them out the door with a list, which Richie wrote on his forearm in messy Sharpie like a real adult.

Part of him couldn’t wait for when they all left Derry and returned to their usual places. He’d miss them all together, of course, but he longed for the comforts of home. His apartment in LA wasn’t much, but it was still home. He looked forward to hosting each of the Losers, and vice versa, not needing to go out for runs to shitty Walmarts or stay in shitty hospitals or pay for shitty Townhouse rooms. Just the thought of the group lounging on his small couch and up at his kitchen counter made him smile. They could drink and he could take them on tours of all the comedy venues he bombed at and the ones where he made himself. He didn’t have many people to introduce them to, none at all really, but still. The city of angels was enough by itself; he longed for the sweet, surreal combination of the Losers and his new home.

Ben grabbed a basket and walked beside Richie as he muttered off the list repeatedly, “More wine, game, stain remover, strawberries, lime, pizza on the way back. More wine, game, stain remover, strawberries, lime, pizza.” 

Ben perked up, “Strawberries and lime? Why do we need that?” 

Richie glanced up at the aisles, heading towards the alcohol. “Mhm?” He hummed, looking over at Ben. “Oh, yeah, Eddie can’t drink alcohol yet because of his pain meds, so I’m going to make him a virgin daiquiri, I’m pretty sure he likes those.”

They stood side by side before the rows of drinks, bottles and cases full of promise for the night. He picked up a case of the beer they had been drinking, and pointed out a cheap bottle of wine similar to what they’d had back at Mike’s. Richie looked past Ben, and noticed him smiling really wide. “What? Why are you smiling like that?” 

Ben shook his head, “Nothing, it’s all good. It’s just very nice of you to do that for Eddie. It’s thoughtful.” 

He shrugged, trying to be casual as his heart rate picked up. “It’s not much, I have to make up for being such a dick to him all the time.”

“You’re nicer to him than you think, I think. It’s nice seeing you guys together, you match each other well. You can keep up with each other.” 

_ Oh no,  _ Richie’s heart sank.  _ Bev told him.  _ He felt suddenly claustrophobic, the harsh store lights made him dizzy. He licked his lips, feeling the wine from earlier churn a little. He couldn’t throw up again, it was getting excessive. He held his breath, turning to Ben and awaiting the cursing, the backlash. He braced himself for all the words he’d heard for so long, the things he’d said to himself. But Ben was nice, right? He couldn’t be homophobic, he was  _ Ben _ , heartthrob, saccharine Ben Hanscom. 

Their eyes met, and Richie looked away, ashamed. Ben’s smile fell instantly, “Rich? You okay? Was it something I said?” His voice, panicked, held no hint of malice or anger. 

It made him nearly shake to start talking, and he swallowed hard, “Did Bev tell you?” 

“Tell me what? About you and Eddie?” 

Richie could only nod, and Ben stepped forward, holding his hand and the basket out, placating. “It’s okay, Rich. She didn’t tell me anything, I just - I understand. I see it.” 

He head swam, and he felt faint. “You see?” 

“I mean. I pinned for Beverly for decades, I think you and I are pretty damn similar.” 

Richie felt his heartbeat in his throat as he analyzed the way Ben talked to him, trying to read if there really was a threat. He tried to search for any hidden implications. He swallowed his heart down. “So, you don’t mind that Eddie’s a guy?” 

Ben looked at him quizzically. “Why would I care that Eddie’s a guy?” 

“And that I’m also a guy and in love with him?” His voice shook, and he couldn’t meet Ben’s eyes. 

“Oh my god, Richie. I’m so sorry.” He immediately set the basket down and reached out to embrace him. “I should’ve probably known you were worried about that. I don’t care that you’re gay, or bisexual, or whatever. I mean, I do care, but it doesn’t bother me.” 

Richie let himself nod and relax against Ben, laughing in relief when Ben slapped him on his back in the most earnest, manly way possible. “Does this mean I can keep talking about you being super hot?” 

Ben chuckled and picked his basket up, knocking into Richie’s shoulder. “I don’t mind.” He said good naturedly. “We’re all fine with it, I’m sure. We just want you to be happy, we love you, Rich.” 

Richie gave a dopey grin, and shuffled down the aisle towards the produce section. “Thanks, Ben.”

“Of course. You’re still a Loser.” And that was it. Ben didn’t expect anything from him. The truth wasn’t stuck in its cage in his throat anymore, it was splayed out in the alcohol aisle of a Maine Walmart, and it made very little difference to Ben or Richie. The world kept spinning, his lungs kept working, and no one hit him with a stick.

Richie let out a little laugh at that. “Is that a good thing? I’m kidding. Enough with the sappy shit, I need to go back to being a dick to cleanse myself.” 

Ben rolled his eyes, “Are you sure you don’t like the sappy shit? I think you’ve secretly turned into a softie as you’ve aged.”

“Ben! I’m wounded! Don’t say that too loud or you’ll ruin my reputation.” 

He smiled and picked up a lime, adding it to the basket. “How many strawberries should we get?” 

Richie shrugged, “Just a container, I guess. Do you think Mike has a blender?” 

“Probably.” 

When they reached the toys and games section, Richie immediately gasped, lunging forward. “Oh my god.” 

He grabbed a ouija board from the bottom shelf. “Dude, why the fuck is this on the bottom shelf? Do they want kids to summon demons? A goddamn newborn could reach this.” He moved it up to the highest shelf. “They literally put it right next to Legos. This is an outrage, I’ve already saved a shit ton of kids from a demon, why does that responsibility always fall on us?” 

A cartwheel squeaking made them both look over to a tired woman staring at them over her toddler. Richie smiled meekly and waved, “Hi. Comedian here.” When the woman turned without much acknowledgement, he called out, “I have a Netflix special!”

Ben busted out laughing and reached for Cards Against Humanity. “We can’t take you anywhere. Do you really believe Eddie doesn’t know what this game is? Everyone’s heard of it.” 

“Maybe. But I don’t doubt that Eddie’s had a boring ass twenty seven years. Myra sounds like a trip.”  _ A trip was putting it lightly.  _ Richie had hundreds of choice words for her, and he’d yet to even meet her. He could hear Eddie erratically scolding him in his head and he pushed thoughts of his wife - sort of ex wife - from his mind. 

Ben huffed out a breath, turning them both away from the games and judgmental woman. “Tell me about shitty spouses.” 

He winced. “Yeah, oh man. If Myra is a trip, Tom is accidentally falling into a fucking canyon.” 

Ben nodded in response, the two of them walking towards the cleaning supplies. “He’s a fuckhead.” 

“Wanna make a pact to go to New York and kick their asses? We can tag team Tom and I’ll watch you take on Eddie’s Mom’s Doppelganger/Wife.” 

Ben laughed and looked over at Richie, “Why wouldn't you fight Myra?” 

“Oh Eddie would kill me. And I’d get too entranced by how much she looks like Mrs. Kaspbrak. I don’t want to accidentally get seduced.”

Ben snorted, grabbing the stain remover and plopping it in the basket. “You know Eddie’s not here to hear you talking about sleeping with his mom, right?” 

“I’ve gotta keep up the habit, man. He’s kept in practice of being a little shit all these years and I need to give him a proper run for his money.” 

“You do keep up with each other well. It’s fun to watch.” 

“Oh don’t tell me that, it’ll just fuel us to act even more insufferable.” 

They smiled and paused their conversation for the checkout lane. As much as he enjoyed talking about Eddie, Richie was coming to understand just how obvious his feelings were to nearly everyone. Discussing those feelings in a Walmart in rural Maine near an unknown cashier didn’t feel like a smart decision. He shuddered, thinking about Adrian and Don, those two Mike had told them about and whose hate crime had tipped him off to Pennywise’s return.  _ What a return, what a tragedy. _ It made him feel sick, and sure, that had happened in Derry under the rule of Its angry grip, but he wondered if having a resident eldritch horror made the difference. It would’ve happened anyways, and that was the worst part. The crime would’ve still occurred, the only difference being the lack of a bite wound when the body resurfaced.

He grimaced, trying to shake that image from his head, collecting the bags. He and Ben talked about where they were picking up the pizza and Richie punched the address into his phone on the way there. The car glided past broken down and boarded up businesses, homes with their own private landfills in their yards, and flat colored plains of crushed grass, farms without harvests. 

Looking away from the pitiful sights out the window, he shifted focus to Ben, handsome Ben. His transformation really could be called remarkable, and Ben looked so happy now. He looked confident, not hardened by the cruelties hurdled at him through life. If anything, he seemed even sweeter and sure of himself. Richie longed for that, but he knew Ben deserved it more than anyone. He also knew himself, and that he’d have to be blackmailed to go to the gym, and even then, he still remained doubtful about whether he’d actually use any of the equipment.

“So, Benny. You and Bev? How’s that going?” 

Ben quirked an eyebrow towards him, smiling dreamily. “It’s going. We’re excited to get out of Derry, probably head back to New York soon. We didn’t want to leave before Eddie was up and moving around.” 

“I’d drink to that. But you know what I meant. How are  _ you guys doing _ ? Together? K-i-s-s-i-n-g in a tree? Having wonderful, unfairly beautiful sex?” 

“Shut it, Trashmouth,” Ben quipped, not upset in the least, that happy grin still covering his features. “We’re good, it’s only been a few days, you know. But, man, was it worth the wait.” 

“Awww, Benny! I hear wedding bells,” Richie sang, grinning. 

“Really, do you? Are they yours and Eddie’s?” 

“Oh, Ben gets off a good one! You know, Bev said something incredibly similar.”

That only made Ben smile wider, flushing with pride of having naturally felt the same as Bev. “She did?”

“God, yes. She called Eds my potential spouse like we’re on an episode of  _ The Bachelor _ .” He fake gagged, retching at the sickly sweet sentiment. “The pizza place is up here on the right, by the way.”

Ben pulled into the parking lot and parked before facing Richie. “She may have been onto something. With the potential spouse thing, I’m serious.”

Richie grimaced and felt his heart ache. “Can’t be a potential spouse if he’s straight. And married. Actually, this knowledge benefits you too, Bev and Eddie are still married. Can’t get married if you’re still married.”

“I think the circumstances defy the rules, Rich.” 

“God, we should rename ourselves the Homewrecker Club instead of the Losers Club. You and I are the presidents since we’ve been a part of the Lonely, Pinning Nerds Club for thirty years.“

“Can’t have two presidents, Rich, I think you’d be the president because you’re still pinning.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just go get this damn pizza.” 

They stepped out of the car and collected the food, Ben paying like the nice guy he was. Richie didn’t protest, holding the door open for him when they headed back for the car. When they were almost back at the library, his guilt got the better of him. Even if he felt down about Eddie and his cocktail of mixed feelings there, he was still happy about Ben and Bev, he still had a connection with Ben over their mutual pining and strikingly similar situations. 

He cleared his throat once they were back to the library, opening his door and shuffling the bags under the pizza boxes. “I know I’m an asshole a lot of the time, but I’m really happy for you Ben. You got the girl.” 

Ben gave him another classic sweet smile and playfully punched his shoulder, “I’m happy for you too, Rich. I think you’ve got a lot of good coming to you soon.”

Not long passed before the pizzas were mostly gone and the club were refilling their drinks. Richie set to work on the stain, under Eddie’s tyrannical supervision. Richie had huffed in annoyance, “Eds, you do realize I’ve successfully removed hundreds of stains before? Most of them from your mom’s sheets,” and earned himself a smack on the back of the head.

While Bill and Bev worked to set up the game and explain it to a seriously confused Eddie, Richie wandered into Mike’s kitchen, searching fruitlessly for the blender. “Mike, man, what the fuck? You don’t have a blender? How do you make your drinks?” 

“Um, I don’t drink blended things very much? I drink water?”

Richie shook his head in dismay, “You’re too good a man for me, Mikey.” He tapped his cheek lightly and Mike grinned, pushing him away. “Do you at least have a hammer?”

He looked at him strangely, leaning down to get a drink out of the fridge. “Yeah, of course. I keep most of my tools and cleaning stuff under the sink.” 

Richie waited until Mike had left the kitchen and the other Losers were distracted before rifling through the cabinet. He found a plastic bag and filled it with ice cubes, cut the strawberries up into quarters, squeezed out half the lime over the mix, and added a small spoon of sugar from a glass jar he’d found behind the coffeemaker. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed the group laughing with each other, cackling over drinks and the stupid cards they were reading before the game. He noted Eddie’s cute dimples and the sad, definitely nonalcoholic water bottle he had in his grasp. With that, he returned to his task and lifted the hammer. 

He got maybe eight hits in, breaking most of the ice cubes up, before the group’s yelling reached him. He turned, grinning, “Virgin strawberry daiquiris, anyone?” 

Eddie glared at him, and Bev, leaning against Ben, rolled on the couch, with laughter. Bill looked incredibly amused and Mike looked up at the ceiling with infinite patience. Eddie stood up to march over, “Richie, what the fuck -” 

He interrupted with the final necessary hits, turning back to his audience with the bag in hand, kneading it and mixing up the ingredients. “Yes, my love?” He grinned cheekily at Eddie before fishing out a glass from Mike’s cupboards and filling it. He threw his arm over Eddie’s shoulder and handed him the glass, steering him back to the group. He delighted in the way Bev remained beside herself with laughter and Eddie glowered at the drink in his hand. 

“I’m not drinking this, asshole. I doubt you disinfected the hammer, you fucking caveman.” 

“Eds, you kill me. It’s not my fault Mike doesn’t have a blender, and I didn’t break the bag so technically the hammer didn’t touch anything.” 

“For the love of fuck.” 

“You guys ready to start the game?” Bill asked, grinning.

‘Deal us up, Billy boy! Are you guys ready to get your asses kicked by the king of comedy?” Richie plopped down on the floor and leaned forward to pick up his hand. “I’ll even go first as judge, give you losers a head start.” 

Turns out, they didn’t need the head start, Mike swept up the first round winning the laughter of almost everyone. Richie read out the cards, “As Teddy Roosevelt once said, the four manly virtues are honor, temperance, industry, and Sweet Baby Ray’s.” He pointed at Mike when he sheepishly admitted to having the winning card. “You, sir, win just from having the Sweet Baby Ray’s card, that shit is rad.” 

As the game continued, the different humors of each member came out with their card choices, whether they judged or played the card themselves. Richie was delighted when Eddie began getting the hang of the game, and he choked on his drink when Eddie won the round with, “Why am I laughing, crying and taking off my clothes? Gay thoughts.” 

Ben’s humor remained relatively tame until the very end, surprising everyone with, “Coming to Red Lobster this month: ethnic cleansing.” 

As it happened, the game became less funny the longer it went on and the entertainment came from everyone’s reactions. Bev cried when Bill and Mike got into an argument about the cards, and Richie told them to just divorce each other and move on. She cried even harder when Richie then played “LSD + a hateful 30 year marriage = really bad time,” and Eddie told him to go suck a dick. 

The game ended when they just started associating cards with each other and laughing at the accuracy, the drinks still flowing and the memories following suit. Bill pointed out how stupid it was they’d gone out to buy the game and the group barely played it. 

“That’s because this game sucks like I said,” Bev offered, eating a cold piece of pizza, her feet tucked under Ben’s thighs. 

“Remember that time you talked Ben into spending all his allowance on the arcade?” Mike asked Richie. “I think I detect a pattern.” 

“Poor Ben, always being talked into things,” Bev patted his thigh and he flushed. 

Eddie turned on Richie, “You didn’t make him pay for this shitty game, did you?”

“No!” Richie lied, “I’ll have you know I paid for this  _ excellent _ game, you uncultured ass.” 

“You didn’t pay.” Ben added, smiling.

“Okay, no I didn’t pay! Ben, you’re a narc and I’ll pay you back.”

They all laughed, only stopped when Mike remarked, “So Trashmouth, if you’re this funny with us, why does Eddie say your comedy specials suck?” 

“Oh my god, they’re terrible! Dude, you fucking suck.” Eddie nudged Richie with a socked foot, and Richie pushed up his glasses before sprawling back across Eddie’s legs. 

“Yeah, your mom’s cli - motherfucker, don’t hit me with that glass, I made you that drink.” 

“Yeah, and it’s gross,” Eddie added, taking a sip. 

Bev sighed out, “Will you two stop bantering? Mike asked you a question.”

Bill shrugged, “I thought their arguing was cute.” 

Richie flipped him off, and turned back to Mike, grinning. “My comedy does suck, man. I don’t write it, but I think I’m going to from now on.” 

Bill nodded appreciatively, “Seriously? That’s awesome, dude. Want to help me write too?” 

Richie rolled his eyes, “No one can help you with your writing, Billiam, your endings are too far gone to ever be saved.” 

“Fuck off, Richie.” Bill threw an uneaten pizza crust at him. It landed on the floor and when Richie picked it up and took a bite, Eddie practically shrieked in disgust. 

Losing the crust to Eds’ fast hands, Richie sighed dramatically, “I’m never allowed to have fun. But yes, I want to write my own special next time. I’ll probably start off with smaller sets in clubs to test it out first, there’s no way I’ll get it filmed or approved for a tour without bouncing it off some smaller venues first.” 

“That’s pretty cool, Rich. Do you have any ideas about what you’ll include in it?” Bev asked.

Richie simply gestured with his wine glass to the circle. “You guys. Us. I think now that I’ve gotten over the evil clown-induced amnesia, I have a whole treasure trove of things to pull from. It’s a goddamn shame my audience has never heard about Eddie’s mom.” 

Another groan erupted from the group, but Eddie didn’t even dignify Richie with acknowledgement. Instead, Bill picked up the conversation thread, adding, “You know, all jokes aside about how god awful my writing is, I think I’m going to do something similar. I think there’s a lot of things here for me to infuse in my next book or screenplay or whatever.” 

“Hey, don’t steal my idea. I called dibs on immortalizing us!” 

“I say whoever writes it fastest gets to have the Losers as source material.” Mike shrugged. “And, Rich, it sounds like you’re out of practice from writing and Bill is not.”

Bev piped up, “Why don’t I design a new line of clothing about all of us, and we all race to create something about us?” 

“Great idea, you can design clothes, Ben can design us a fucking house, Mike can draw us in the sand on a Florida beach, and I can analyze the risk of all of us existing together.” Eddie said sarcastically, he mimed looking through a folder. “I’m done with my report now actually, it’s one hundred percent a terrible idea to have us all in the same fucking room together.”

“Aww, Eds, don’t be jealous of all our artistic endeavors. I bet your risk report is as cute cute cute as you,” Richie leaned his head back into Eddie’s lap, looking up at him and reaching to pinch his stitches-less cheek. 

Eddie smacked his hand away, “Fuck off, dick.” 

Bev laughed, leaning onto Ben’s shoulder. “I’d like to point out that it can’t be a perfect one hundred percent if we survived this weekend. I think we’ve fared pretty well, hun.” 

Eddie scoffed, “Don’t go into the risk business, Beverly. Just surviving does not imply a good investment.”

She shrugged, yawning. “Are you Losers tired yet? It’s like two in the morning.” 

“Oh Ringwald, you’re getting old, this party is just starting.” 

“We’re all the same age, Richie.” She sat up, picking up her glass to take to the kitchen. 

Mike and Bill followed suit, taking care of the empty pizzas boxes and napkins, while Ben picked up loose cards and filed them neatly into their container. Richie stretched and swallowed the rest of his drink. “Come on, you guys, this is lame. We’re not that old.” 

Bev smiled at him from the kitchen, “Some of us have to get up in the morning to hit the road.” 

He sat up straight at that. “Wait, you’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Technically today, hun. But yes, probably after breakfast.” She’d finished cleaning up her things and collected her purse. She came back to the couch, kissed Ben on the cheek, and looked pointedly at Richie. “We talked about this, but I think you were in the kitchen fucking around with a hammer.” 

Richie smiled and put on a fake pout. “Again, not my fault that Mike doesn’t have a blender.” He stood, staggering a little, unsure if it was from the wine or the hypertension. “Woah. There’s two Bevs. I kid, but I guess I’ll see you in the morning then? If you’re going head out?” 

She nodded, and pulled him into a hug, “See you in the morning, Rich. Please call it a night.”

He pulled back and nodded somberly, “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout, asshole.” Eddie called from his place in the kitchen. 

Richie just grinned and hugged Ben, watching them say goodbye to the others and leave. He picked up his glass and put the game back in the plastic bag. He snatched his car keys from the coffee table and turned, meeting Eddie. 

“Woah, hey man. Come here often?” Richie smiled down at Eddie, an Eddie very much in his personal space.

Eddie rolled his eyes, reaching for the keys. He yelled “Hey!” when Richie held them up high, out of his range. ‘Asshole, gimme the keys, I wanted to go grab our bag.” 

“Wait, why?” Richie relented, giving Eddie the keys. 

“Mike said we can crash here for the night, since you’re tipsy and I’m not staying at that Townhouse ever again. Bill’s staying too.” 

“Does Mike have three guest rooms I just haven’t noticed?” 

“No dick, there’s the couch and the floor. You’re on the floor tonight.” 

Richie shrugged, watching Eddie put his shoes back on, gripping his arm to help steady him as he slipped them on one at a time. “You want me to come with you to the car?” 

“No, I’m fine. I’ll be back in a second.” Eddie stood up, his shoes on and Richie’s hand wrapped around his forearm as if he were steadying him still. He stared for a second before stepping back and heading for the car, leaving Richie dazed. 

Pulling himself out of it, Richie found Mike and Bill in Mike’s room, chatting on the bed. “Hey, sorry to interrupt. Do you have extra blankets or pillows, Mikey?” He yawned for added effect and thanked him when Mike pointed out a closet in the bathroom. He told them goodnight, readied the couch, moved the coffee table, and made himself a makeshift bed on the floor a respectable distance from where Eddie’d sleep. As he did, his tiredness began to take over and he laid down, drifting off.

He woke up to Eddie nudging him with his foot, “Rich, get up. You didn’t brush your teeth or change.” 

“Yes I did,” he mumbled. 

“No you didn’t, I have your fucking toothbrush and clothes.” 

Reluctantly and after a few threats, Richie stood and haphazardly followed Eddie to the bathroom. They brushed their teeth side by side in a blissful state, made better by Eddie scolding him for the time Richie spent and harassing him into restarting his teeth cleaning regimen. Richie woke up more when he changed Eddie’s bandages, gently coaxing Eddie to look away from the mirror and look at him instead. He whispered low, stupid jokes and Eddie laughed until it hurt his chest to. They were silent after that, until Richie’s hand smoothed over the final piece of medical tape and Eddie reached for a clean shirt. 

They were silent when they took their places next to each other, on the couch and on the floor. They were silent when Eddie took Richie’s glasses and folded them neatly on the coffee table. They were silent when Richie offered a goodnight smile and wished it was a kiss, and when Eddie returned the sweet smile, turning on his side. 

“Night, Rich.”

“Night, Eds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm hard at work on the next chapter. Leave a comment about your thoughts if you want, they're super appreciated. Thank you for reading! Have an awesome night (or day, lol, it's 1:16 AM where I'm at)


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